


An unusual bond

by 70procent



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 44,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/70procent/pseuds/70procent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ever since they’ve hugged, case successfully solved, without any protection, both had felt it. It was rather hard to miss.<br/>It wasn’t right. Touches like hugs and handshakes were not uncommon between them. Bumps into each other while they’re trying to get past each other in the small kitchen weren’t unusual either. The connection would have been deeply formed during the past two months since Sherlock’s return. It would have been made known the first time they had any kind of skin to skin contact. Years ago."</p>
<p>Rated for now with M (without any reason, really), could easily change to E or G - there is a warning for a fantasy that pops up now and then. Nothing too graphic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I have wanted to write for a long time. Not BETA'd or brit-picked so if anyone is up for it. Please, tell me.
> 
> A few things though;  
> 1\. I'm Swedish so English isn't my native language.  
> 2\. I'm not done developing this story, so this is very likely to change during the time I write.  
> 3\. Critique is appreciated.  
> 4\. This is my first Sherlock-fic, be nice to me.

 

Tap-tap-tap-tap

 

Raindrops -

 

Tap-tap-tap

 

 - Against the window.

 

John opened his eyes and confirmed it. Yes. Heavy rain, too. Good, the smell outside on the street started to get a bit over the top. A woman had been shot two days ago. Sure the blood had been washed away and the body wasn’t there anymore but the aura around the place was starting to smell… funny. Sooner than later it probably would’ve made its way inside 221B too. It made John feeling bad.

 

That and Sherlock was being a bitch.

 

Ever since they’ve hugged, case successfully solved, without any protection, both had felt it. It was rather hard to miss.

It wasn’t right. Touches like hugs and handshakes were not uncommon between them. Bumps into each other while they’re trying to get past each other in the small kitchen weren’t unusual either. The connection would have been deeply formed during the past two months since Sherlock’s return. It would have been made known the first time they had any kind of skin to skin contact. Years ago.

 

Something like a strong electrical surge had unleashed between their palms one and a half hour ago and searched its way into their bodies as they got allied. The slow-motion moments of flying, being electrified and thrown backwards had truly come as a shock. No pun intended. They had woken up ten minutes later with pounding headache and sore, tingling hands. Sherlock then had run of and locked himself inside his room. The sounds of moving furniture indicated that the door was also barricaded with probably bed and desk. Possibly the chair was placed there to. John wasn’t sure Sherlock knew what this meant. This… inconvenience would reshape their relationship.

 

John sighed, this wasn’t meant to happen. It rarely did, anymore. Sherlock wasn’t from that kind of family and the biological thread to have… it… weren’t shown in the parents.

 

No, Sherlock was not a bastard nor adopted. John had shaken hands with both parents and there was no trace of those small mutant-genes in either of them. He could feel the bindings that sew parent and child together and both mummy and Sherlock’s father had strong connections with their son. Though no… aura. There was no way the elder had cheated because that felt when John read the others. Like a broken mirror.

 

If Mrs. Holm – mummy, John still had problems calling her that, had cheated and brought up Sherlock without the biological father a connection would be there but it would be flawed and forced together. Just like a broken mirror still show your reflection. But the Holmes’ family was one smooth surface with a clear reflection. Nothing broken. No disturbance in the alliances. No… aura. Why? Why wasn’t there an aura indicating that Sherlock could bear the gene?

 

With a tremendously heavy effort Dr. Watson stood from the sofa and went over to the overturned chair. Better straighten things up. Books were thrown down from the bookshelves, one turned up the rest down. He picked it up and ironically found it to be the family tree of the Holmes’.

 

The discharge had disturbed a lot and even broken the telly and mirror above the mantelpiece. A few stray papers had been ripped and blown flat against the closed windows.

When John tried to pick them off small sparks emerged between the two surfaces like when you try to light a fire. And they stuck to each other like wet spaghetti. _Just like Sherlock and I will…_ John thought without humor.

                     

The natural ways of coming days would be like the paper and glass, constantly touching, constantly wanting to feel skin, Sherlock’s skin. With his hand, tongue, feet, back, leg or any body part at all, as according to the books “making the alliance between the two cores stronger”. They would be satisfied with just sitting back to back without shirts but usually it would be taken further. A. Lot. Further.

 

He wouldn’t like to think about a sexual relationship between him and Holmes. Sherlock was as asexual as a rock. Provided a rock now was asexual. Could a rock have any sexual orientation at all?

John bent down and picked the last books up and sat them onto the shelves. Surely the carefully systematic organization the dark haired, now sulking, man had once made was disturbed but since the believability that Sherlock would pick them up was small, nearly nil, John put them away anyway.

 

Sherlock didn’t knew about what was going to happen, neither what had happened. It was going to be a long conversation about the very nature of these alliances their cores had made. The touching, the possessiveness, the sex…

John shivered, he’d never expected something this unusual would happen to him. The odds were so incredibly small, nearly uncountable, for something like this that it was only mentioned as a legend. Well, probably more as a story with a certain edge that it actually did exist moments like that.

 

He had met a woman a few years ago who had found her significant other. It was like seeing a rare breed, or royalty to meet her and to shake her hand. The amount of power in her body was incredibly strong. Unfortunately the man whom she was… connected, bonded, allied with had died in a car accident while she was in an aero plane on her way to Cambodia on business. Dreadful, truly dreadful.

 

John went to the cupboard to get the broom. The pieces of former glass that had been standing on the desk were scattered. The doctor started to hum. A tune he’d known since he was a child. Before the knowledge of how much the core inside himself would develop. God, the silence was impossibly quiet. There was always sound in 221. Either from downstairs when Mrs. Hudson cleaned, had the telly on a little too high so she could hear it into the kitchen or Sherlock would try some new experiment that included shouting into a jar filled with two spoons of sugar, half a cup of cold tea and three hairs from a rabbit. To which John had actually frowned at and continued his novelization of the newly completed case.

 

Slowly he let the glass fall into the dustbin. Still humming the tune and –

 

“JOHN!” The scraping of furniture on floor could be heard.

 

“JOHN!” More scraping. Sherlock was un-barricading.

 

“JOHN!” The door flew open and a dark haired man swept through the kitchen which was between Sherlock’s room and the living room where John was standing. “John, I’ve analyzed the possibilities of the blackouts we’ve seemed to have gotten – ”

 

“Sherlock – ”

 

“ – and it’s a risk we have a gas leak. Which is highly inappropriate but as soon as it’s fixed –”

 

“Sherlock!”

 

The taller one stopped pacing around, turned sharply to face John and stared. How was John supposed to make this clear for Sherlock? The man wasn’t even aware of his own nature, his power, his core. How was John supposed to convince the consulting detective without be thrown out of the flat? Why would this responsibility land on him? Why wasn’t Sherlock brought up with this knowledge? Why hadn’t John started speaking yet? Why wasn’t Sherlock breathing?!  
  
Sherlock started to turn slightly red from the lack of oxygen.

 

“Breathe, Sherlock.” The doctor said quietly. “You have to breathe. There’s no gas. No leak.”

 

The slow out and intake Sherlock made then was complemented with, “There’s no other explanation.”

 

John raised an eyebrow and sat down in his chair. “No? Well. Not within your knowledge maybe. I know exactly what happened.”

 

Sherlock plopped down in his chair and studied his companion with a newly found interest. The seconds ticked away with the two males just studying each other. _The sex, the touches_ John’s mind kept telling him. The _satisfaction_ of having another core devoted to you. How enormous the _possessiveness_ would become after enough contact. How simple his life would feel with Sherlock. _Sherlock_.

 

“What happened?” The question was slow and calculating. _Sexy_.

 

“Hm?” Oh, could his brain stop thinking about that!

 

“You know. I want to know. Clearly this wasn’t something ordinary because you tune out and your foot keeps twitching. Then you keep scratching the back of your hand, the hand that you shook with me before… This.” He made a circular motion with his own hand indicating earlier events. “So tell me. What is it that I possibly don’t know?”

 

The blond man cleared his throat. “What happened was… something truly impossible. Something that cannot – shouldn’t – have happened. It’s impossible because you’re not having that kind of gene. And we’ve touched before. I have no idea what could have triggered this. It’s not supposed to work like this. It’s like I’m…” John took a breath. “Your parents, they’re not having it so you shouldn’t have that type of core either! But you have it, or rather suddenly got it, and it’s made things complicated because I don’t want anything to change! But it needs to, and I would be..!” Realization dawned on John’s face and he stood nearly tipping over. “Tea. Tea. I need tea. Fancy a cup?”

 

Sherlock sat quietly in the chair and stared at John, who felt very confused and self conscious under the inspection. Then one corner of Sherlock’s mouth went up in a half of a smile. “Yes, please.”

 

The doctor nodded and went into the kitchen. It was so much to explain, so much information that John learned early on in his life that Sherlock had no idea of. John had no plan on how to start this, how to make Sherlock understand. The speech he had in the living room would probably not enlighten the detective much.

 

He spilled out the old water and added new. Put it on the electrical platform and pressed the button on the side. With his head in his hands and hip leaning against the counter he tried to think of something reasonably sensible to begin to explain. How about the gene? How the core in everybody needs a gene to become powered up. Or should he start with the history? Or how these bonding-things set the status people have in society? Why they become like that? Should John start to explain the nature of this? The bonding, the feelings. The sex? Oh god, how was he supposed to explain the sex?! Asexual Sherlock would be horrified! How should he explain the satisfaction sex would bring them?! How would he –

 

“I don’t think the –”

 

“SEX!” John blurted out. They stared at each other.

 

“Sorry?” Sherlock spoke after a few moments.

 

“God, Sherlock. I don’t think I can explain. There’s so much! I understand that my earlier try didn’t make much sense and then there’s my outburst now which I also need to expl – ”

 

“I don’t think the electrical kettle is working.”

 

John stops his ramblings. “What?” he gives his flat mate a what-in-the-devil’s-name-are-you-talking-about-look.

 

The dark haired man put his hands in his pockets and nodded towards the kettle. “The kettle isn’t working. I think it might be broken.”

 

What? What was the man trying to tell him no – oh. “Oh.” True to Sherlock’s words no bubbling water, no sound or no light was visible on or in the kettle. “Yes. It seems so. Sherlock, if you’ve used this in one of your absurd experiments I’m going to be very angry with you. I’ve told you to let it be!”

 

“No John. I haven’t.”

 

“Oh.” The doctor pinned his gaze in Sherlock’s grey ice. And of course his brain was starting again. _Sex._ Suddenly the ceiling seemed very interesting. There was a crack in the corner which had to be fixed soon.

 

“John. You’re self conscious now. Why don’t you tell me about the blackout?”

 

He let out a small puff and nodded. Yes. He could do this without being uncomfortable, after all Sherlock would be going through the same thing.

 

“What do you want to know?”

 

“Start with explaining why we blacked out.” Ever the coolest human on earth Sherlock sat on the dining table, no experiments were on it though. John took a moment to collect his thoughts.

 

“I don’t think I can explain it so you’ll believe me, Sherlock –” Said man opened his mouth for speaking but John cut him off. “– but I’ll try anyway.”

 

John motioned for Sherlock to follow him to the living room and then sit down in the chair again. The army-doctor needed to regain his military training for this and the stability to shut his brain which apparently had been stuck on _sex._ With a few deep breaths he turned to Sherlock and began.

 

“First and foremost, for it being any point to me explaining this for you you’ll need to fully believe me on one thing. I’m getting to what in a moment. The one and only rule in this conversation is that when ether I ask you something I expect you to answer but otherwise no interruptions. You may want to stop me and walk away and that’s fine, just walk. I’m expecting it, because this might put your world on end and not seem believable.” John paused and looked at the tall man with crossed legs and a risen eyebrow who gave a nod.

 

“What happened between us today is something very uncommon. Under my lifetime it has only happened twice, that’s to say that two cores ally themselves. It’s a partnership with many pros and cons. You can choose to ignore it but we won’t live without feeling something amiss. God, and this is the part I’m dreading, the relationship between the two humans that happened to have allied cores usually develops quite quickly to something… more.

 

“Fair and square it usually ends up in marriage or such. And I can assure you that today I have no intention to woo you Sherlock.” Said man snorted which awarded him a pointed look from John. “This is nothing I take lightly Sherlock, I’ve heard stories of enemies becoming lovers. Families unite despite their differences in cultural, financial and religious belief. I’ve heard stories of –”

 

“And that’s what it is. Stories.” Sherlock cut in, breaking the only rule.

 

“No it’s not.”

 

“How can that be? There’s no scientific tales of cores joining each other of what _I_ have heard of. And a true fact is that humans don’t have cores that can bond. Feelings is the closest thing, and that starts with a chemical reaction in which can result in love and therefore also marriage. Your _stories_ are obviously just fictional.”

 

John stayed quiet but didn’t break eye contact. Was Sherlock so incredibly steady in his belief that the world was what it seemed to be so he didn’t deduce that John was telling the very truth? Did he think that John was pulling his finger?

 

“There’s proof. Scientific proof. I understand that this seems illogical –”

 

“Highly.”

 

“– but why would I make this up? If I believed we had a gas leak I would certainly be out of this flat in seconds after you’ve mentioned it. I’m still here, am I? I know it isn’t a gas leak.”

 

The consulting detective stayed put in the armchair but the signs of disbelief and annoyance were in his face. And then the sigh came and that was the drop.

 

“God. You’re impossible.” John breathed and stood, walking straight to his coat which still was on the floor and picked it up. “If you’re not going to even try to listen or understand me I might take this to an end.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“Out.” And so John ran down the stairs and out in the cold rain. The aura outside had vanished by the heavy water. He needed to think, to get away for some time and then try to sort Sherlock out. After he’d sorted himself. His feet brought him to the Boating Lake in Regent’s Park where he sat down on a bench and just stared.

 

If Sherlock wasn’t going to accept this turn of events then they should keep themselves as far away from each other as possible. Since the decision of such an action would be his and not Sherlock’s he would have to move out of Baker Street. Slowly he began to think of the beaches in Italy. He’d been there once, about fifteen years ago give or take, and he’d found the place he’d spent with his girlfriend of the time very relaxing.

 

If he had the financials he would try to make himself at home there or somewhere alike, or the opposite.  He’d been to Sweden once during the three years Sherlock was dead. Nice place too. Also something he’d figured he would take a closer look upon.

 

“Good God…” John mumbled and tipped his head back, eyes closed. The heavy rain fell across his face and he couldn’t stop thinking that it helped him calm down. Rain was probably the most soothing and best phenomenon in the world. Well, except when you wanted sun of course.

 

He started humming again and felt the memories of childhood flood back in sight. When his parents told him about the core, when he grew up a little and saw for the first time what a rare breed he was, but also the normal; reading with his sister under a blanket with a torch a stormy night.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He should be living a normal life, with an extra twist if needed, but nothing like this! Not join an alliance with Sherlock on such a deep level. Never! He felt his core hum in time with his own voice. So he took a deep breath and relaxed.

 

He opened his eyes and traced the tendril of water on his hand. He was shivering, soaking wet without an umbrella. He gave out a little laugh when he came to think about Mycroft. Mycroft would have been an even more hideous soul to connect with. Imagine the poor choice his core would have made if it wanted to connect with Mycroft.

 

The thought nearly made him want to run back to Baker Street and hug Sherlock. Ah, hugging. _Sex. Sex. Possessive._ God, make his brain shut up. He didn’t want to feel that way about his flat mate. He didn’t want to picture the positions they could make on the living room carpet. Sherlock sweaty and – OH FOR GODNESS SAKE! SHUT UP!

 

John hastily stood up from the bench and started to walk back into the city. The weather was too harsh for anyone to willingly go out. His toes were starting to feel cold and he realized that going inside somewhere would be a good idea. Sarah? No, broke up and he had no left over clothes there since three months ago. Mike? Never. Again. Greg? Had his parents over for dinner. Hotel? Still no clothes but also no Sherlock or other awkward situation. Hotel it was.

 

He felt around in his pockets and let out a frustrated sound. His wallet was on the table in the kitchen since he was out shopping earlier. That was it. He’s going back to hell.

 

With heavy steps he made his way back to 221B Baker Street and watched out as a car drove past him into the oncoming darkness. Muttering under his breath John reached into one of his pockets after he’d discovered that the door was locked. Unfortunately also the keys were happily inside the flat beside the wallet.


	2. What is the core?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos you've left. And the comments of course. I'm glad that you like it.

The fist that hit the doorbell after the second try was shaking and nearly impossible to straighten out. He heard some rustle inside before the door slowly opened and revealed the flour covered Mrs. Hudson.

“Oh dear!” was her reaction and hurried the ex-military doctor inside. “What are you doing outside in this weather?”

The clatter of teeth was the only answer.

“I’ve heard the violin doing that awful screeching sound for an hour. Have you two had a row again?” She helped him off with the coat. 

“Yes. Yes. Something like that.” There’s no way of denying it, they were practically married to each other anyways. It wasn’t uncommon for them to argue. “He’s being a bit not understanding.”

Mrs. Hudson shook the coat to get the water out only to get half of it on herself. “Oh. That man. I know exactly how it is.” She stared a bit disapprovingly at the coat as if it was its fault for getting wet. “Where in heavens have you’ve been? And why didn’t you take a cab?”

“Out. In the rain. Needed to think and my wallet is upstairs.”

“I’ll put the kettle on and get some biscuits, straight from the oven. Meanwhile take a shower and get some dry clothes on.” She shushed him up the stairs. “Come back afterwards and bring that book you’re reading. You look like you need a break from…” She pointed at the roof. Yes, he needed a break from that.

“Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” He slowly made the last steps and paused outside the door into his and Sherlock’s flat. The screeching of bow against strings had died when he started walk upstairs, Sherlock was waiting for him. He could continue to walk upstairs to his own room and that was probably for the best. 

When he finally reached his own room he peeled of the wet clothes and hung them on a hanger on the door. The bathroom which joined his room was white. White floor, white walls, and slightly light grayish shower curtain – he thought it was white when he bought it – even his toothbrush was white. To be honest, it was much like a surgery.  
The water that hit his back when he stepped in felt scalding hot and it made his skin feel like burning, after a while like needles and in the end just warm. Like a caress from light fingers, if he closed his eyes he could imagine someone touching his forehead and down his cheeks then playfully tap his chin only to continue to follow his throat and chest.

He had to open his eyes to reassure himself that he was actually alone and so Sherlock hadn’t sneaked in and started touching. John knew that it would be a challenge for at least himself to keep in check when – if – they started feel each other. 

He stepped out of the water. He’d had enough of it tonight. A good book and a biscuit from Mrs. Hudson seemed to be the right thing to devote a few moments to. Not the illogical and complicated dilemma he had with Sherlock. As the hair on his head got dryer after a few swishes of the towel he heard the tunes of a certain violinist and watched himself in the mirror. The John Watson in there was younger than he felt. Not looking young though! The face that stared back was around forty just as he should look, but in his mind he felt like the double. The things he’d seen lay as a heavy blanket over his head and shoulders. Death, orphan-children begging for anything, the sick get healthy and the healthy get sick.

He’d felt the pain with those who mourn their seven year old daughter, he’d felt the relief with the old that welcome death. But the most memorable was when he felt his world falling and break because of gravity from the rooftop of Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital.

He was pretty sure he felt nothing more that deep friendship for the younger Holmes, but he knew that feelings could change. He could very well be content with his face pressed against a pale junction between shoulder and neck tomorrow – enjoying the feel of wandering hands on naked skin.

The pants, sweatpants and once a neon purple coloured t-shirt was what he dug out of the closet together with a woolen cardigan that was worn threadbare. The last garment went on as he himself jogged down the stairs. The last step creaked and the music abruptly stopped, once again Sherlock was waiting.

John’s small exhale before he stepped into the familiar 221B’s living room wasn’t for anyone except John’s own ear. The shorter male stood in the doorway for a second and the dark haired took the moment to turn around – dressing grown wildly adding a dramatic effect that unfortunately went unnoticed by John. The book was found on the coffee table and John had gone there to retrieve it. 

“John…” Sherlock said and waited for a response. Said man picked up the book and turned to his flat mate.

“I’ll be downstairs.” And with that he simply walked out and shut the door behind him. After a millisecond he opened it again. “No violin if you’re going to torture it!” Now. Door. Closed. Heading? Downstairs. 

True to her word, newly baked biscuits were nicely placed on a plate and a steaming cup of John’s favorite tea, milk added, stood on the kitchen table as he walked in.  
“Mrs. Hudson?” He called.

“On my way, dear. I’m trying to put in a new light-bulb.” Came from further into the flat. “I’ll tell you that I am not as young as I used to be. Would you be dear and help me?”

Mrs. Hudson came in view and John saw her balancing on a staircase, a safe one that you could hold yourself onto while on the top step. “I’ll gladly help.” He answered with a smile and in just that exact moment The Torture of The Violin started. 

Screeching and groaning strings gave out the most horrible sound which continued in over ten minutes until John took a broom and knocked the floor loudly a few times. The torment quieted down and John took the offered silence to yell. “PLAY FOR REAL! IF YOU DON’T STOP THIS TORMENT I’LL EITHER TROW YOU OUT OR I’LL BE MOVING OUT QUICKER THAN YOU CAN SAY YOUR OWN NAME!”

He felt a small bit of satisfaction when he heard the vague sound of applause in the flat next door. Even Mrs. Hudson had a little snicker behind his back. Then he heard the soft tunes of a classical piece that Beethoven, Mozart or Bach wrote. He wasn’t a cultural human being after all. 

“Come on dear. With that sorted out I think tea and something to nibble on is exactly what you need. I’ll get the tea and you can light a fire in the fireplace.” She wobbled out of the living room and John put some firewood in a neat pile.

Once the fire burned brightly both male and female was seated in two armchairs reading books, once in a while sipping they slowly cooling tea. An hour with pleasant music and a cozy feeling went by until rushed steps down the stairs disturbed the moment. The door swung open and Sherlock stood there with wide eyes and stony posture.

“Yes?” John asked while still reading his book.

The answer was slightly panicked when it finally came out. “I’ll listen.”

Those words were enough to make John smile a bit and chuckle. He peered over his book and scanned the detective.

“John.” He said either as a warning or pleading, John couldn’t really detect which one. “I’m sorry.” Ah, pleading.

Watson went back to his book. “Go back up.”

“John! I said I’m sorry and willing to listen to your stories!” He was sounding a bit frustrated and panicked at the same time. 

With a smack the book fell closed. “And that’s it! You think they’re stories when I try to tell you something that I’m sure exists.” A small flare of anger was welling up, and this time John didn’t know if he could control himself. It took a while to get the core under control after such an abrupt awakening. 

“But the human bodies do not have ‘cores’!”

“Are you as dumb as you make out Anderson to be?!” There was a small fire in the Doctor’s eyes as he violently rose from the armchair.

“Obviously not! I’m seeing things you minor people – idiots – cannot see! I make the connections between pieces of evidence! I am logical enough to tell when someone lies and – ”

“Not good enough to read me then!” God, please do not become angrier. Please. Please. Please, not at Sherlock!

“I can read you like an open book!” The exclamation was through clenched teeth. “I know you!”

“Not enough on either reading or knowing, because you evidently cannot see that I do not lie!”

“I can recognize stories when I hear them!”

The blood pumping in John’s body seemed to get hotter, but the anger of being disbelieved while telling the truth got the better of him. “You are as stupid as Anderson then!”

The comment though seemed to make Sherlock to steel and he roared. “Do not dare to compare me to him he’s an idiot!”

“Then don’t compare me to normal human beings! Because I assure you I am not!” John yelled with anger slowly spilling over. No! His core was already doing it, the single sheet of stripped paper John used as a bookmark flew across the room and stuck to the window. 

The room was quiet. Not even the fire crackled as it usually would. Mrs. Hudson had escaped as soon they had raised their voices and Sherlock stared at the paper. Then after a few moments his stormy eyes shifted back to John.

“The core is very much real.” The doctor said in a much lower tone but through clenched teeth, while trying to calm himself and get his anger in control. Thin lines expanding from his palm was glowing in a low light. Beating is time with his heart and core. “The core is… magical.”


	3. He's going to go through a phase

Sherlock stared. Just stared. At John’s hand. 

John himself started to feel slightly self conscious. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. The bonding should have kept his flow in control, channeling it through Sherlock to calm down and then get back into John. Why didn’t it do that?

One possible reason were that Sherlock wasn’t born magical. Another was that he was just as angry as John. Third; could be that the bond wasn’t finished or strong enough to withhold the power between them. Fourth solution; John’s anger was directed at Sherlock and therefore was meant to hurt him so the magic ventilated the only way it could, out. The bond wasn’t going to turn on itself by inflicting pain. Magical pain, that is. 

“I’m sorry.” John said. “I truly am. It’s wasn’t my intention to… to do… this.” He held up his hand and watched it slowly become more skin coloured. The faint lines traveling up to his elbow only to smoothly disappear like a sunset. “I can’t really control it when I’m… angry.”

The steely eyes of the detective searched John’s face, which probably was tired and looking way beyond his own age.

“The core isn’t a body part, Sherlock. It’s kind of a mental state. There’s a reason magic is called Will in videogames. It’s the will to control things around you.” Videogames? Really, John? Sherlock isn’t into modern mainstream.

“Mental state?” Sherlock asked carefully and his gaze flickered to John’s now almost normal hand. “Doesn’t look like it.”

At that John had to smile a quick one. “No, as you see the effect is quite physical. It’s also biological. Every human is born with the genes but it’s very unusual to have them activated. Both parents need to have the same active gene. Which your parents don’t, neither of them actually, which means that you my friend… are truly exceptional.”

Sherlock looked like he was set in trance when he walked over to the armchair where Mrs. Hudson had sat. “You said earlier that I didn’t have the gene.”

“As I said; everyone is born with it but not everyone’s active.” John stopped to really think about the next bit. “Just like someone bears the genes for blue eyes but still get brown, because that’s the dominant gene. The blue gene kind of ‘deactivates’.”

“You said that I didn’t have the gene. If I don’t have it, what has all this to do with me?”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “You have one. Yours have been activated.”

Suddenly the penetrating eyes were on his and John could see a flicker of hope, fear and anticipation only because they’ve lived with each other for so long. Though he could just assume that Sherlock was starting to believe him. 

“Obviously that’s not especially usual either.” Sherlock said after a few seconds.

“It’s never happened before.” John stated and sat down. The dark haired man seemed to brighten up, but once again so smoothly obscured that only John who knew this man deep down could read it. “This is unique.” 

Sherlock suddenly sprung to life, rushed over to the window. “This piece of paper flew across the room without aid from any kind of wind, draft or alike. No optical illusion either or I would have seen it.” He slowly tried to peel the sheet off. “The two surfaces of both objects seem to stick together. Like glue which hasn’t dried. One possible solution may be static electricity.” He turned to John for confirmation.

John shrugged. “It’s possible. No one has ever really tried to work it out... I guess it’s because they’re-”

“- afraid of letting it go out public. Of course.” Finished Sherlock and started pacing. “How many people have this kind of ability?”

A bit put out of balance by the quick deduction and question and the phrase ‘ability’ made him think for a long time.

“John?”

“I don’t know… Not many though. I’ve met a fare share of people with this… ‘ability’ and they’re scattered all over the world.”

Sherlock went back to the armchair and folded his knees under his chin. “How many?”

“About a hundred. Only one from UK.”

“That’s extraordinary!” Sherlock exclaimed and put his hands on his knees. “Give me a while to think and we’ll be discussing this later.”

John knew he’d been dismissed and picked up his book from the table. “See you later then.” He said and Sherlock made a motion with his hand. The doctor sighed and closed the door behind him as he went out from the living room.

“Mrs. Hudson?” He said and went into the kitchen.

“Yes, dear?” She was doing the dishes.

“Sherlock seems to have occupied your living room. Care to accompany me upstairs later for dinner, as a thank you and a prey for forgiveness on Sherlock’s side?”

She cast a smile in his direction. “I’m afraid I have to decline. Mrs. Turner next door asked me yesterday. She’s making thing wonderful stew I supposedly just have to try out.” She made a very unladylike sound. “I hope it’s better than the last soup she thought was ‘unbelievably marvelous’.”

John chuckled. “Let’s hope.” 

He left 221A and quickly climbed the steps to his own flat. The incredible had happened, Sherlock believed him! A small string of joy started to worm its way into his body. Sherlock and he would be connected but maybe it would be an experience they both would enjoy at times. The consulting detective’s boredom may have had an end for a while. 

And then it hit him again, the touching. The odds for future sex were low **(1)** and the feeling of have Sherlock running around without him were going to be a plague. Never jealousy, though it would probably sneak into this mess anyway, but jealousy weren’t something that usually came with the bond. John was perfectly fine with Sherlock having someone else, though that was highly unlikely since he probably was asexual. 

Or was he? They rarely spoke of things of that nature. Sure John’s dating had come up a few times but not Sherlock’s… swinging. What John now could deduce – Sherlock would mock him – was that the detective didn’t prefer any sex of the human race. Except when they were dead. Oh god help John if he was living with someone who got sexually attracted to corpses! They really needed to talk about that!

Pushing those thoughts away he focused on searching the kitchen for clean equipment to cook dinner. When he only found three spoons in their flatware and a bent knife he decided that noodles were the best dinner tonight. Luckily he found an almost clean pot. Maybe it was for the best that Mrs. Hudson declined his offer for dinner. He cleaned the pot of course and then dropped the pasta into it.

Meanwhile he straightened the last things up a little better, putting Sherlock’s violin back in its case and threw the Union Jack pillow back on the armchair before he sat down to eat. Just went he took his first bite a rapid knock was heard from the front door then three equally rapid rings on the doorbell.

Evidently Mrs. Hudson opened and heavy steps, judging by the sound were taken at least two or three at the time. Greg Lestrade yanked the door open and tumbled into the flat.

“Where’s he?” The grey haired man said between breaths.

John stared a moment, the DI looked like he’d been drenched. “Uh, he’s downstairs.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes and turned on his heel to rush down the stairs. John put his bowl with noodles on the coffee table and followed the older man. When he reached the pair Sherlock was still in his curled position.

“There’s been another murder. Twins. The neighbor found them in an alley not far from their apartment. Several wounds made by a sharp object. Probably a knife. But no blood.” Lestrade said, keeping the information short and concrete. 

Sherlock glanced up at the man. “Lestrade, what kind of weather do we have today?” He said with a bored tone. “The twins are obviously the famous painters, since they’ve been uncontrollably making rumors about themselves having a fair share of their money on their persons.” He smiled a quick smile. “A precaution to not get robbed from their now exposed bank accounts, unfortunately for them a risk upon their own person. A tempting target for all lower class muggers and thieves. The question is where their bodyguards were?”

Lestrade sighed. “Outside the flat. No one came in or out.” 

Sherlock glared. “Are you doing this just because you’re tired of doing the thinking yourself?” The detective said in a accusing and still down putting tone. “Of course the twins sneaked out! They’re barely eighteen years old! There’s treats all over London. They’re not allowed to do things on their own. Think! Bars, shopping, whatever the teenagers do nowadays!” He waved his hand nonchalant in the air indicating he really didn’t care.

Lestrade looked a bit lost as if he realized that he could’ve figured it out himself if he’d just put his mind to it. John guessed that when Sherlock Holmes was back Lestrade was trying to make Holmes do the thinking and kept to the paperwork. 

“Well…” The DI started.

“Well what? I solved a case for you. Again. Without leaving the flat.”

John cleared his throat. “Technically Sherlock, you’re not even in our flat.”

A very unbecoming sound erupted from Sherlock’s throat and suddenly he was sulking like a child. John sighed. “Seriously. Go upstairs and do that, we don’t need to expand your absolutely stunning mood to Mrs. Hudson’s lovely flat. We all know how it could go.”

Sherlock untangled himself and stomped out of the room muttering.

Lestrade walked up beside John watching the tall and now sulking man disappear out of the landlady’s flat. “Real sunshine today.”

John snorted. “He’s been a little bit like a rollercoaster. He was a real jerk a few hours ago, thirty minutes ago he was glimmering with happiness – like when he’s got a case – and now… Well, you met him.”

The policeman nodded and took a deep breath thru his nose. “Well then. See you later John. Call me when you need a time off from that lunatic. Some of the guys at the station and I are going to take some pints tomorrow, joining us?”

“We’ll see. Sherlock might want some help.” John glanced at the closed door said man had slammed behind him.

“What?”

“He might need me tomorrow.”

Lestrade stared. “Whatever for?”

John creased his eyebrows and thought of how he easiest could explain this… bonding-thing without reveal it. He followed Gregory to the front door.

“He’s… He’s going through a phase.”

“A phase?” Greg echoed and looked disbelieving. 

“Yes. Do you really want to know?” John cocked his head to the side. “I can tell you it’s in the same style as when he were posing as a gay homophobic.” Which was probably true. 

As soon Lestrade heard it his hands went over his face. “Oh god no. All luck to you buddy, hope you survive this hell.” He put a hand on John’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” With that he closed the front door and thereby shut the rain outside. “I’ll need it.” He said quietly to the wood and made himself ready for meeting the thunderstorm upstairs.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) This is something people have problem with where I’m from. Sometimes, if something happening would be very likely people says that the odds were high, although odds are a way to measure the possibility of that happening. In games, let’s say trotting, odds are high if the horse is less likely to win and the odds are low if it’s a larger possibility of it winning,


	4. Grudge was after you

When John opened his eyes someone was in the room. He could hear the low intake of air somewhere in the corner by the door. In front of him the red numbers 03.56 mocked him.

“Sherlock?” He yawned.

The man at the door stood still.

“Seriously Sherlock. Go to bed.”

“No.” Was the childish answer. God, could this man never understand that you just don’t sneak into one’s room and stand in the shadows like a murderer. The doctor started to understand why Sally had her thoughts about Sherlock. 

John lit the bedside lamp and rolled over to face the consulting detective. “What do you want?” His voice was rough from sleeping.

“Is the core something you feel?” Came in baritone. “Is it just psychological?”

With a groan John turned off the light again and put a pillow over his head. “Go to bed, Sherlock. We’ll speak about that tomorrow.”

“I need to know!”

“Go to bed!” John concentrated hard on trying to fall asleep. One minute went and Sherlock hadn’t moved.

“John?”

A throaty groan could be heard from the bed.

“I need to know. We need to speak.”

That was it. “Sherlock Holmes! For goodness sake! Go! Back! To! Bed!”

“John, I need to – ”

“GO TO SLEEP!” John was sitting up staring at with his bloodshot eyes at Sherlock who just stood there a bit sheepishly in his old worn t-shirt, pajama trousers and red dressing gown. The light on the nightstand was on again, without John had turned it on, damn magic.  
Sometimes, Sherlock was the best friend John would ever have but other times Sherlock was the worst friend John would ever have. To calm down he threw himself backwards onto the bed and took a deep breath. “Sherlock. I know that this is new to you and I would love to explain it. But. Not. Now. I really need to sleep and I have work in the morning. Please Sherlock, leave now and we’ll talk when I come home.” With that he switched of the lights again and burrowed between the sheets.

The thoughts were winding down and the stillness of the space around him let him almost fall asleep again. Vivid images of distance lands flickered before his eyes when he heard it.

“Please John…” was the small voice that absolutely didn’t fit his flat mate’s usual persona. It made the Doctor feel ashamed. He had just turned his best friend down when Sherlock truly had no idea what to expect, feel and believe in. Sherlock was truly lost, he realized. They hadn’t talked earlier because Sherlock had gone to his mind-palace. Now the detective was ready to talk. John tried to suppress his frustration and then gave in and let it and the magic flow by turning the light switch on and off on, tripping some book down the shelves and then letting them smash against the wall before bouncing five times on the floor. Then John was feeling fine. It was a long time ago he let himself use the core this childishly, but then again the new connection with another core made him feel the same as when he was a hormone driven teenager. The magic just wanted… out. To exist, to show itself for Sherlock. And usually things just disappeared and appeared where it didn’t make sense when John was feeling angry. Once he’d made his dad just pop up on the kitchen table when just a moment ago he had been reading a book in bed. Just once. Moving people were hard. It was quite draining mentally.

“Fine…” John steadied himself by sitting up with his back to the headboard which Sherlock took as an invitation to crawl out from the shadows and seating himself on a chair John always had hated but didn’t have heart to throw away. He got a pair from Harry and Clara’s divorce since they neither needed them but John did. One of the chairs fell victim to a certain detective’s experiments and the other was now stored in John’s room instead of by the kitchen table. “What do you want to know?” John asked and rubbed his eyes before looking at the taller man who had put the chair by the foot of John’s bed.

“Is the core physical or mental?” Came the baritone voice after a few seconds.

The doctor thought about it. It was mental but had very physical effects. It was mental in the fact that it was controlled by one’s brain. Feelings had a very big amount of influence on the core. Physical in the sense of channeling its powers as displayed to Sherlock earlier. “How do you mean?”

The question put a wrinkle between Sherlock’s eye-brows and John wanted to smooth it out at once. “Is the core something you can feel?”

Ah. “Yes. In a way.” John let the answer end like that.

“How?” Was that fear that crossed the paler man’s eyes? No it couldn’t be. What did he have to fear in this? Sure, it was something new but wouldn’t that be exciting for Sherlock instead?

“It’s said by books… and a woman I’ve met that when the core reacts to another they want to reassure each other that the other is there for them when they need it. In a way. I don’t think I’m really in that position to lie and say I’ve felt it before. She also said it was a kind of wanting… Though it was many years since I’ve met her so I may have misinterpreted or misunderstood her.” John waited for a second and studied Sherlock. “Why are you asking?”

Pale eyes flickered to his and John felt his heartbeat speed up for a few seconds when they just stared at each other, damn core. Suddenly Sherlock stood up and paced.  
“So there’s a bond – or whatever – that are forged between us?” Sherlock started but didn’t leave enough room for John to confirm. “That would probably mean as in a wed couple. You said I didn’t have an active core. What made it active? You? An event? It must have been an event since you’ve said that only a single touch can start the procedure in which this touching commitment to each other. So what was it that recently happened that could have made an unique hole in the laws of whatever physics you magicians –“

“We.” John corrected.

“ – we, have. There’s the Reichenbach Fall where I’ve been gone for a long time but surely we must have been connected must faster.” Sherlock slammed down on the chair again and stared at John who had been listening. “What else? A few murders, a few minor crimes, a lousy case from Mycroft. God! There’s nothing that makes sense!”

John smiled a little bit. “Actually there is.” Sherlock’s head flew up faster than lightning.

“What is it? John, tell me!” He rose so quickly that the chair nearly tipped over. “There has to be a trigger!”  
“The girl who got murdered outside on the street had a magical core.” John said frowning. He had not been there at the night. Sherlock had been with Lestrade and taken care of a case the evening John had been called in at work. One of the new doctors had been called and told that his brother had been forced to hospital because of an overdose or something. John couldn’t quite remember, the whole day had been a mess with Sherlock’s starvation of boredom, Sherlock’s decision of bringing home a two and a half day rotting corpse, a kidnapping of The Government – read Mycroft, the other Holmes - and a constantly calling alcoholic sister. 

“How do you know? You never saw the body. You probably never met her.”

John had to protest. “How do you know? Maybe I’ve met her.”

“Olympia Grudge, not likely. She lived in France, high class, shot three times. Chest, head and hand. Why would she be here anyway? If not to seek help. From another magician… You. You have met her.” Sherlock stared again at John. “What was it she could have wanted?”

John had gone pale at the mention of the name and staring to get ill at where the bullet had penetrated the body.

“John?”

Said man took a deep breath and stared at his hands. “Olympia was a friend when I was younger. We went to the same school. The year that Mycroft have records of me working in a hotel for extra money was actually my time spending to learn and know my magic better. We came quite close but she quickly went and married a rich guy, Armand, I think. We held contact a few years afterwards, nothing strange, we ‘worked at the same hotel’ according to paper and the simple ‘how are you?’- and ‘come and visit sometime, haven’t seen you for a while’- calls was common. But after a while it died out, I went to Afghanistan and she had already moved to France. We lost contact. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Sherlock sat quietly and gazed at John while he spoke. Probably redecorating the little room John had in his enormous mind-palace with the new information. When the taller man later spoke up he sounded slightly discomforted. “Are you mourning her?”

“Of course. We were friends. Wouldn’t you mourn me if I died?” At that the room became deathly silent. Sherlock’s sharp eyes focused on only John with such an intense frequency that John had to look at his hands again which were absently playing with a small hole in the duvet covers. “Look, Sherlock. I need to sleep. We can maybe continue tomorrow. Please?”

Sherlock only stood and brought the chair back to its original place before closing the door after him and thereby leaving John in total darkness.


	5. Doctor Watson

CHAPTER 5 - Doctor Watson

“Dr Watson, I’m feeling a bit strange.”

John nodded and looked over to the old lady with two handbags and thick glasses. “How do you feel then?” he said patiently.

The lady stood up and bent in a strange position. “Every time I do this my back hurts, and if I rise too quickly in the morning I feel all dizzy.” She stood up straight again and waited for her doctor to reply.

In his head John sighed. God, as a 75 year old woman it was no mystery to why she had back pains while doing acrobatic performances as morning exercise. Those were probably impossible for a young one too. “Mrs. Johnson. I’m afraid that that’s because the spine is not accustomed to that kind of bending.”

“Oh. So I should just take it in small steps then? Well I guess that would be reasonable, you see, when I was in a bookshop last week I saw a book called ‘101 positions to make your... -something-life better', I don’t remember exactly but it showed different positions you could do to be healthier. I thought that trying those out would be good for an old lady. Unfortunately you need two persons sometimes, I guess for the stability, and sometimes to sit on. Sometimes you have to move up and down to exercise. Those I just use a pillow for, it works as well. Anyway that book said to take it in small steps and if it were too uncomfortable you should try another position.”

John had stopped in his way to get a tissue. Stared straight ahead and felt the blush slowly creeping up his neck. He had to tell her the exact nature of the book, he knew which kind she was talking about. “Mrs. Johnson, I think that this book isn’t something for your morning exercises.”

“Oh?” she looked confused.

“I think you may be describing a book to improve your… sexlife.” He cleared his throat and smiled his ‘doctor-smile’ as realization dawned on the lady’s face.

“Oh dear goodness. Yes that’s… Oh.” She laughed a bit embarrassed and waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “I guess that’s nothing for me.”

John just nodded and tried to will his mental pictures away. A sweaty Sherlock moani- stop!

He smiled at Mrs. Johnson and helped her to the door. “And the dizziness is common if you’ve been lying down. As a healthy person you get a bit slower heart rate and if you stand up too quickly the gravity takes blood from the brain and pulls it to your feet. A short experience of dizziness is appearing because the blood comes back in the next heart beat. Nothing to worry about. Try to sit up before standing next time you rise in the morning.” He let her go and she turned around.

“Thank you doctor. Tell your girlfriend I wish you have a better use for this than I do.” She reached into her handbags – the blue one – and pulled out a book. Oh god, no. “Here, doctor. I’m sure you might need it in the future.”

“Mrs. Johnson I don’t think – ” he tried.

“Nonsense. Take it.” She put the book in his hands and smiled. “A nice young man as you can always put some spice in his private-private life. Good bye, doctor.” With that she left him, going fast for a woman in her seventies. 

With slight embarrassment he turned the book and found the suspiciously ordinary cover to have been printed with a flower and the title in Times New Roman. It was too ordinary to not look suspicious. With quick steps he made it into his office and placed the book under some papers. He didn’t want someone to find it. People could assume he and Sherlock was having problems. Not that they never had problems. Well, not this kind of problems anyway. Not yet. Probably soon when they both grown tired of each other and wanted to try something new. On the living room carpet.

He really needed to stop thinking about it. There was so much else, so much more important. There was the announcement. There were the explanations and there was time to get touchy. The magic inside John was trying to get out every time he walked into a room which inhabited Sherlock. On top of that they should be starting to study Sherlock’s abilities. Sherlock himself should be reported as a magician even if people would call him a freak for activating his – dead – core. But then again Sherlock had always been a freak.

John threw a glance at the clock and growled a bit. He had been working almost eight hours and was already too tired of old woman with colds and young teenagers with headaches. Drink water for goodness sake!  
On his schedule there was at least two hours left until he could relax at home and stare into the flames of a newly lit fire. The living room cozy and warm with a book in hand. And Sherlock would be doing some crazy experiment, cursing so much that a seaman would blush. His new testing included containers filled with jelly in an unnatural colour and a stench that reeked into every corner of your mind until the lid was safely closed again and stored in one of the drawers marked ‘experiments’ in the refrigerator. 

With a small shake on his head and a glass of water later he took care of Mr. Crieff, a gangly, ginger man with freckles and stammer. His ear had been troubling him again and the inner ear was swollen. Giving the man a recipe of ear drops John sent him away with a good bye.

The kid that was next was a real pain though. The mother seemed tired - probably single – and didn’t do anything to make the boy behave.

“Are you really a doctor?” The young one said. And John answered ‘yes’ with a smile on his lips.

“You don’t look like a doctor.” The child continued. “Your ears are funny.” Oh great, now John became self conscious. 

“What’s this?” The small hand was gripping a pump of lubricant.

“That’s lubricant.”

“What’s that?”

“It makes things slide easier.”

The small boy made a face. “Why would you need that?”

“So I can for example see if there’s something wrong inside someone.” John said with thinning patience.

“Oh in the tummy?” The small puddle on the boy’s hand made him dart out his tongue and taste it. His expression afterwards made John almost grin in malice. 

“Oh it’s not for eating.” Doctor Watson took away the pump and lifted the little guy over to the patient table. Which Rory – the child – jumped off immediately and ran towards the door.

“Rory, stop running around. I need to take a look at your lungs and then we’re fine.” But the small brown haired child was already out in the corridor outside and disappeared to the right. 

An hour later when the ordinary test on usually five minutes was done the next patient he received was an ordinary middle aged man with a bad knee.  
When it was time to get home he threw the stack of papers into his bag and gave himself the luxury of a cab ride home. John’s core hummed within, drowning out the horrible rap music the young driver was playing. The core wanted to seek out the one it’s chosen. Feeling the touch of freedom to another body. The core wanted Sherlock even more as Baker Street came closer. Once outside the cab is paid for and the blonde man turned to the door.

John sighs and fumbles a bit with the keys. But in the end just open it with overflowing magic after a quick look around. Small pulsing lines decorated his palms. The release made it much simpler to walk up the stairs where Sherlock sat bundled up into a chair by the fireplace deeply in thought. 

“Hello.” John greeted and took of his jacket.

A low grunt could be heard from the thin man as an answer. John closed off the magic that seemed to seep out of his pores. He made dinner casually, once and twice he did cast a glance towards Holmes but never finding him looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, readers. You saw right. I thought it was fitting to have it since series 4 have started.


	6. One will never forget

It wasn’t until after dinner Sherlock untangled himself and sat in the kitchen chair facing the doctor, who was looking through the papers he clumsily pushed down his bag.

“Tell me more.” Came the baritone voice.

John hummed and kept reading. He wasn’t done with the page and really wanted to be finished before having a flood of magic pushing from his insides and forcing him to hug the man. Talking with him wasn’t making things easier. The constant line between a casual conversation and a touch wasn’t far from each other at this state. If they chose to not be bonded – even though they would be – they should move from each other as soon as possible. The distance John had to maintain from Sherlock within Baker Street made daily things difficult.

“John.”

“One minute, Sherlock.”

The doctor read the last on the page and set it aside with the other read ones. With a mental sigh he took the leap to look into steel grey eyes. But they weren’t looking back, still deep in thought.

“Tell me about it.” The usually dramatic man seemed to be even more so up close. The stubble that seemed to grow on the usually clean shaved jaw stood out drastically. The hair was wild but not in an unflattering way. Or was that the core speaking? A nervous almost manic aura radiated from the man.

“I don’t know what to say. It’s magical. We need to make a choice…” Sherlock’s eyes had been focused on a spot on the table. But know they bored into John skull, making him hesitate. “Sherlock. Do you want to have this bond? It will take a lot from you.”

“Such as?”

“Privacy. In each and every sense. You would be famous, or as famous you could be to magicians. Not only have you awoken a dead core but you would also be bonded from the start. First and foremost there aren’t many people with bonded cores, I’ve met one. I’ve heard of maybe a bit more than a dozen couples whereof three lived separate lives. I will be there to support you but, if you choose to have this I will always be there. Always. I will need you to trust me and to respect me.” 

John studied Sherlock as his speech progressed, all it was true even if it sounded like a love declaration. It wasn’t like that. It was just the basics in these kinds of alliances with cores. To give and take, to support the other if needed. 

“Sherlock. Already you will need to write yourself into the register of magical persons and a teacher, hopefully someone who can teach you at home. There’s much to learn with rules and how to handle the magic. If we live separately you will still have a teacher but I won’t be here, I’ll move and not to the other end of the city but really far away. We will have to cope without each other and maybe never meet again. No more solving crimes or speaking. It’s going to be easier after a while, you will be able to find a new flat mate and live as you are used to. If we decide to keep the bond… Well…” John slowly quieted. Now was the touching and sex part. It was now John put the seed to a moaning Sherlock on the living room carpet. Sweaty, with John sensually using his hand to… Good god! Not now! This is something serious. He put his thoughts behind bars and took a deep breath. “… Well. There’s going to be sex. Eventually, probably. And a lot of touching. I’m not certain what you want and therefore I don’t know. You’re obviously not interested in sex so there’s also something big you have to give up. I know it’s a lot to ask for and now when it’s out in the open understand if you want me to start packing. I’m sorry for this… I really am... We shouldn’t have bonded. “

Sherlock hadn’t even blinked during John’s ramblings. He just sat still and read the Doctor as usual. “I need to think.” He said then and disappeared into his room. This was something John hated, to be left out. He became absolutely furious when he learned that Sherlock still was alive. His core was humming strongly again to go after its partner and help. Along with that he produced small clouds hanging over his head. Doing nothing really, maybe it was for shielding one’s head from the sun if magic had been ‘normal’.

Slowly he rose from the chair and made his way upstairs. Obviously this was too much for Sherlock. He was asked to give so much up. The clouds changed shape as if it was a bit windy over John’s head. He sighed and they condensed and a short although light rain fell upon the blonde’s head and shoulders. The black bag crept by itself out from under the bed and opened. He was prepared to leave if necessary because right now it was only a small light of hope inside his body. The core hummed again and John used it to push up all furniture against the walls. It was time for some relaxation.

In his wardrobe he dug out a little bag with white chalk and he picked the most worn one to do a fairly round circle on the floor. It was also made of a small bit of coal, cat claws and deer blood. Sure it sounded a bit dramatic but the deer was always dead when it got drawn of its life essence. And the claws were simply cut off without hurting the cat. The coal was just a component because that’s what the human is mostly made of. It helped to connect and reestablish the magic within. To John there had always been a bit more difficult to keep his magical traits under hiding. It took time, patience and a lot of self control to get his core calm. Since Sherlock he hadn’t done what he was going to do for a long time. Sometime before Afghanistan he had to do it because he had a row with his sister.

He deemed the circle sufficient and started to make small symbols in all cardinals and between them words in Latin before closing the curtains. Rubbing his forehead he turned off the lights with a small use of magic and a flick of his hand. Then sat down cross legged down in the circle. These outbursts of magic he’d allowed himself made his core less submissive and his own judgment of when to use it worse. The reason he hadn’t used magic over a while was because of the slow ascending. When he trained to put magic under better control with Olympia he had to sit and do the ritual at least twice the time she sat – or levitated – depending on mood. John guessed it was because of his heritage with a long line of magic users, it maybe grew a little bit uncontrolled.

Slowly he let his core free to unload a bit of energy. His left palm started quickly to get the small tendrils of blue glow. It slithered up his arm to pool in a vortex like shape around his heart. The main places magic came from. The glow continued over his back and stomach like water following his body. The pulsing within him was strong and he felt an odd comfort to use magic at this extent again. The freedom was consuming him and he made himself rise in the air exact to that level he could stand up by just putting his feet down. In the circle he could cross it with two big steps. He put his left in the middle and took a breath. The blue colour stretched to his feet and his right hand’s fingertips. Sometimes he wished he had a mirror while doing this, it was a dance – an art – to do it. When he’d seen his parents do it, it held such grace of carefully imprinted movements like a long rehearsed performance. The aura around them had changed drastically. From foul to bittersweet and then on to a fine smell of coffee or perfume.

He followed the way the core showed him. John could alter it and make it bid his will but within this circle it was no danger to let the magic lead. If he listened he could feel the humming which made his music as he stepped around in the circle. Bending his knees, stretching his arms and balancing on one leg he let the magic tell him what to do. It was an easy task to let the core take control. 

The dance he made was creating different shades of yellow glowing from the chalk to later shift to a blue or green colour. Warming and cooling the air around in the room he made a small cloud appear over himself again with small lightings barely visible from his head to the grey weather above him. He noticed the mood of the core as it swiftly changed the colour on the circle between a dark pink or strange red to a light yellow almost reaching white. Happiness and love, he guessed. Over Sherlock. The other core which he’d found a mate with. John sighed and made the moves to change the way the molecules moved through the confined space within the shape on the floor. Breathing became heavier and moving harder. As if he suddenly was motioned through water. 

After a few seconds he felt the heart warming tendrils of the core and pictures of Sherlock shaking his hand for the first time was conjured to his mind. The way the detective was standing on the threshold and asking him to be his assistant on the case which was now famously called The Study in Pink. He remembered the brilliant way Sherlock had listed of his deduction of John, the awkwardness of their conversation at Angelo’s. How sad he had become when Sherlock had introduced John as a friend but he corrected him with ‘colleague’ in front of Sebastian Wilkes, how he held John’s head to make him remember the numbers on the brick wall. John remembered the concentration of Sherlock when he examined corpses, especially once when they had found the body by the Thames. The memories blurred before him. The flash of horror when he heard the child’s voice when they stood by the painting was well imprinted in his skull. So was his discovery of the detective’s knowledge of space. Sherlock’s uncertainty when John had been kidnapped and put into a vest of explosives as well as the very not safe way the brunette handled the gun afterward. Sherlock’s totally childish appearance in only a sheet at House of Parliament. Sherlock’s reaction to Irene Adler, and the reaction to her death. The fear in Sherlock’s eyes as he discovered the hound in Dartmoor and Baskerville. Sherlock’s harshness and tale about not having friends. Sherlock’s face as the explosion lit up when Doctor Frankland stepped on a landmine. The ordinary days when bullets were shot into the wall or strange things ended up in the fridge. He remembered Sherlock’s obviously fake smiles at photographs. Sherlock’s repulse towards the news reporter. Sherlock’s quite funny behaviour at the trial of Moriarty. Sherlock’s unfitting reaction to realise how Moriarty was going to kill the children with candy. Sherlock’s indifference to Mrs. Hudson being shot. And he remembered Sherlock’s note. It hurt, God, it hurt. He remembered Sherlock standing on the roof, begging John to stand just there. Pain. He remembered the words ‘I’m a fake.’ Sherlock falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the slow update. I hope this makes up for it.


	7. Hello, baby

John hit the ground hard. On his knees and hands he was shaking. The chalk fizzing and glowing like a dying fire. Tears streamed from his face. God, it hurt. He was hurting. The core was hurting. He knew why Sherlock had done it, to save the friends he one claimed not having. For three years John’s life had been a lie. The great detective wasn’t dead, just hiding in plain sight. Being in other countries, of course, but many times right in front of John’s eyes. If only John had watched closer. If he just had observed!

The burning chalk went back to white and left John alone staring at the floor and his hands with blue lines. It hurt still. The memories and the knowledge that Sherlock had watched him but John hadn’t seen him, hurt into his magical core. For three bloody years! That bastard! He’d seen John stop eating. He’d seen the social regression John had gone through. Sherlock had watched an empty John who quickly closed himself and never talked.

Mycroft had visited every Thursday after dinner around eight, but John never wanted to talk. Sherlock was dead. John’s life was dead. Was that a love declaration right there? Mycroft always tried, every Thursday soon turning to Thursdays and Wednesdays. Always at eight and John started to leave teacups on the kitchen table with freshly made tea and then retreat to his room after the sixth week. The cup was always empty and sometimes put away until one day when he found Mycroft entering his bedroom and having a few sentences of how John shouldn’t let his life become so miserable. It was a huge row but John couldn’t deny that Mycroft had been right. Instead he started to go on autopilot. Mondays was for two hours at the gym. Tuesday at home and have tea and an uncomfortable chat with the brother who indirectly killed Sherlock. Wednesdays became the time for a walk or if it rained an evening at home. Thursdays stood for another gym session. Fridays a day of late work and therefore he always ended up on the sofa or with a book. Saturday was shopping day and to going out with Lestrade, Mike or some of his old rugby and military friends. Sundays were always the most boring and emotional. John often stayed hours at Sherlock’s grave and cried, stared and wished. After a few weeks a bench had been moved almost directly in front of the most visited grave and there he spent the afternoon. With the empty grave he shared stories, embarrassingly much alike each other of the past week.

With an effort John pushed himself sitting on his knees. The pressure wandering from his chest to head and out his left arm to his palm and fingertips. How the hell was he going to survive if the magic was hurting him this much while he used it and thought of Sherlock’s fall? He calmed himself by taking a few deep breaths and closing his eyes.

Why did it hurt? He had felt the dull throbbing when Sarah had broken up with him. And when he got to know Mycroft had revealed personal information about Sherlock to Moriarty, but never in his life had he felt the pain. Slowly the markings on his skin disappeared and John stood shakily up. Best to get the markings off the floor.

To collect himself he went down the stairs slowly. He needed to scrub away the unusual chalk. When he opened the door into the flat he saw Sherlock sitting in the armchair that usually wasn’t turned towards the door.

“John. How do I sign up for this magic register?”

The man spoken to took a step into the flat and answered. “I’ll call one that could write you in tomorrow.”

“And if I hypothetically would like to form this bond. What do I do? And what does it require more than my privacy?” The steely gaze wandered over John as if he was seeing something else.

“I’ve been crying.” John started to confirm Sherlock’s unasked question. “And you don’t really have to do anything to confirm it. As I said there’s probably going to be a bit more intimate and very likely to be sexual but I will tell you know that I have no intentions to fuck you into the living room carpet.”  
At that Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“It will require you to actually be a little bit more... touchy, and it will be more concentration on keeping the magic inside you. How’s that going by the way?”

One again the eyebrow lifted. “I haven’t experienced a magical outburst if that’s what you mean. You on the other hand could keep from letting it rain on my notes.” Sherlock said and looked a bit like he ruffled his feathers. 

“I haven’t rained on your notes.” John said with a defiant touch. “I have full control over my core, thank you very much.”

The silence after that spread through the flat like a wave. The two men stared at each other and Sherlock swept with his gaze along John’s body like reading a page. The icy eyes analyzed his face staying a long while at his eyes probably containing his whole life when interpreted by Sherlock. And then continued to his body. Taking in every single detail of John. This was something John now was very comfortable with almost as a protection from actually need to say anything, sure he trusted Sherlock with his life but that wasn’t enough to sometimes really stand up and say things to his face. These analyzes were so much easier when used to them.

“How much magic did you let go?” The dark haired man said after a minute of silence.

“A lot.”

Sherlock made a humming sound. “Chalk on your knee, so writing then on the floor. Ritual, not anything dangerous though. Your hair is ruffled so moving around quickly or just wind. Not any cold draft so no window open upstairs. Slightly sweaty, you’ve been making an effort with something. Red rimmed eyes means crying. For what? Your slight hesitation while seeing me and now me question the reason made you divert you gaze slightly to your left, indicating a close emotional subject. Me. You’ve been crying because of me.”

John stayed silent. And for a second Sherlock’s eyes grew a little bit bigger.

“John... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you. It was stupid, I didn’t know. If I’d known we’d be bound together like this I wouldn’t have hugged you. John. I am truly sorry. You can have someone else, a girlfriend. I won’t mind, we don’t even have to live together. If you want to you should move out. A quick good bye is always more sufficient.”

The doctor walked over to the kitchen-sink and picked up a dishtowel. Maybe it would be best for them to move out. Maybe it would be better for John to pretend Sherlock always was dead. That he died after the collision with the concrete ground. 

“It’s not because we’re bonded Sherlock. It’s...” John swallowed and stared at the pink fabric he had in his hand. “...it’s... I’ve...” He took a deep breath to push his tears down. “I think that I still mourn you. Every time you close me out Sherlock. Every time I think of when you didn’t tell me why you... killed yourself. How I didn’t know what was going on.”

Sherlock rose quickly from his chair. “I have told you. The lives that were in danger... How I needed you do believe that I was dead. If you had given anything away about me living, we both would be ashes now.” It was a serious tone, one that usually came out when Sherlock tried to make John understand, and obsessively wanted to John to follow Sherlock’s reasoning and thoughts.

John shook his head. “That doesn’t make the impact less harsh. You lied to me Sherlock. You left me out and every day I wonder if you would do the same again. If you’ll let me wander around blind or if you’ll guide me with only a whisper...” He was tired, he needed sleep. He needed to pack and clean out his things before moving. 

“Have you cursed me?” The question from the detective called a small angry twitch on John’s mouth. “Did you curse me with the ritual?”

“God heavens no!” John said and stared at Sherlock as if he was the most idiotic thing. “I would never do that. We’re friends and I don’t wish you any harm! Do not ever think I would do something like that!”

They fell quiet again and John had enough. “Well. Right. I’m going to clean... things up. And then I’m going to bed.” With that he walked out with the damp dishcloth and into his bedroom. Quickly changing into an old t-shirt and pyjama bottoms before he dug into the mess on the floor.

The chalk went away with a few swipes and a bit of rubbing and then he stood again. Turning around he nearly knocked into a chest clad in a purple shirt. “Sherlock!” He shrieked and staggered backwards. A large hand shot out and grabbed his upper arm just below the arm of John’s t-shirt. The effect was instant. Goosebumps went up John’s arm and his core let the magic travel towards that spot in a matter of a millisecond. Small much more gentler tendrils of blue glowing magic gathered around that piece of skin on skin contact.

Sherlock quickly withdrew and nearly had John following that hand until he started laughing. The face and stare the consulting detective had, was quite hilarious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to change the beginning. They haven't shaken hands. They've hugged. So that's that. 
> 
> And I'm still searching for a beta...
> 
> If someone feel like having some music to listen to, there are the two I listened most to when writing this chapter;  
> *Yohio - Heartbreak Hotel  
> *Sabina Babayeva - When the music dies


	8. Is it settled then?

The slight feeling of loss wasn’t so bad at the moment. Sherlock held his hand quite close to himself and stared at the part of John’s arm that faded from blue. The eyes boring into his flesh trying to analyze without touching it even if John could see the prominent dilemma within Sherlock’s head. The detective was obviously trying to decide if he should reach forward and drag his fingers across the skin again or if he should cut his own hand off.

“Don’t worry. It will stop reacting like this.” John said soothingly. “It was a long time we touched and according to what I’ve heard the reaction will become less observable.”

Sherlock still stared but at John’s eyes instead. “How did it feel?”

John swallowed, “Good. Quite... Good.”

Sherlock’s gaze let go of his eyes, travelled down his face, his shoulder and then to the spot which now was back to normal. “May I?” His question was low, almost inaudible. But John heard and held out his hand.

With a slight hesitation Sherlock also held up his and took the offered gesture. The somewhat euphoric feeling of touching nearly made the doctor hug the detective. Once again the magic bubbled to the surface and started to make John’s hand go an unearthly blue. Though his veins the magic hummed and his brain focused on nothing else than that Sherlock was his. His to care for and his to touch. His. His. His. Sherlock was John’s to sooth when upset and to seek comfort in.

John was allowed to make Sherlock feel good and the one thing he could picture was the living room carpet with Sherlock on top, writhing under – blinking, he quickly cut of those thoughts. The pulsating pleasure of having his aligned core so close to him made him almost giddy with anticipation of when they would be able to do magic together. Making wonderful magic with someone perfectly matched. As if they were one individual.

Slowly the blond man stroke his thumb over the back of the hand of Sherlock, who was seemingly mesmerised by the small lines that stretched out under his skin. John carefully tried to push a little bit of magic for Sherlock to feel and the widening of those icy eyes bespoke of that Sherlock indeed could recognise the gesture. Yes. Sherlock was his.

“How do I answer?” Said Sherlock and nearly killed the slightly romantic moment John had.

John chuckled which made the detective narrow his eyes and withdraw his hand a fraction before John got hold of him. “You’ll see when we get that tutor here. I do not dare to try to teach you myself.”

Then suddenly Sherlock removed his hand from John’s skin and the feeling of slight loss became apparent. The tingling disappeared with the fading of blue, and when the doctor’s eyes glanced at the clock he realised that they had been standing there for almost ten minutes barely uttering a sentence to each other.

“The tutor. Who is he?”

“I don’t know, I said I’ll call someone tomorrow about the registration and then we’ll know.” John stroked a hand through his hair. “I need to put things back in their original position, Sherlock. Then I’m going to bed.”

Sherlock nodded but didn’t move away. He stared at John’s hair for a few seconds and then travelled down to his hand. “Thank you.” He said and swept out of the room.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the short chapter which is also quite uneventful. I'll try to whip something better up this week, hopefully two chapters. But I cannot promise anything.
> 
> Any critique or picking on me for spelling mistakes and so on? I want to know. :)


	9. Handshake

“Yes, of course.” John was wandering back and forth in the living room in much a ‘Sherlockian’ style. “No, that will be fine.” Once in a while he stopped and stared at the door of the soon to be registered magician. Sherlock hadn’t come out to eat or drape himself over the sofa in a dramatic fashion which was starting to worry John, even though the taller man had answered trough the door that he was fine and just thinking, when the doctor had knocked.

The woman said something and John came back to reality. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he was speaking on the phone with someone he’d met once or twice during meetings with different magical persons.

“I said that we’ll ask the rest later when you’re here.”

“Uh... Yes. Good. I guess we will see you soon.” John said and picked up his mug he’d left on the table.

The lady gave a little laugh. “I’m sure you will. I’ll look forward to see you soon Doctor. Good bye.”

“Good bye.” He ended the call and drank the last tepid coffee from the bottom of the mug before he went into the kitchen and washed it quickly. He was somewhat nervous of the reaction Sherlock would have when they gave him a tutor probably a few years younger than both of them. He was also afraid that the tutor would be scared off when Sherlock had done his deduction thing. Hell, he was probably more nervous about the revelation of the bonding. It was like being famous in a way even if it only was a few hundred people.

John heard the click of the door being unlocked and out from his room stepped Sherlock, neatly dressed in his black trousers a grey shirt and his jacket folded neatly over his arm while he easily slid the last button of the shirt home and was going from indecent to decent. John leaning against the counter was dressed in his oatmeal jumper – even if it were a newer than its predecessor, it was a slightly different model than before – , a red shirt and usual dark blue jeans. No need to dress up. It was only a confirmation of Sherlock being magical.

On second thought, they should probably celebrate tonight with Mrs. Hudson and a three-course dinner. Even if she wouldn’t know what they were celebrating.

“Very well, John. Let’s get this over with.”

John nodded and went to get their outerwear. He half threw the coat to Sherlock who barely had the time to put his jacket on before being covered in dark clothing. He made an unhappy sound but the glint in his eyes showed that there were no hard feelings.

When they made sure that Mrs. Hudson wasn’t at home and they’ve locked their flat and the outer door Sherlock hailed a taxi. John slid in onto the back seat with Sherlock and gave the directions. When John saw and heard the cabbie talk loudly with his friend on the phone he turned to his bonded. 

“Sherlock. Try to not insult the members. It may not be as ridiculously fancy or stern as Diogenes, but they have a few rules and could throw you out without registration. Which means...” John threw a quick look to see if the cabbie paid them any attention, which he didn’t do. At all. “Which means no magic.” He ended a bit quieter. John knew it would take a lot to be thrown out but with Sherlock you could never be one hundred percent sure. One wrong word to the wrong person could be the end of Sherlock’s great journey to become equal with John in the magical society. What an extremely perfect couple of bonded to gossip evil things about. ‘Have you heard about John Watson and his mate Sherlock? Bonded and the mate is not even registered. How awful! ’ or ‘ That Sherlock Holmes must have done something really bad, he should be locked in a cell and be kept away. Poor John who got such a freak for a bonded! ’.  
“We’re here!” said the cabbie unrealistically cheerful. They paid and stood in front of a building of seven floors. “Have a nice day!” And so the cabbie was gone. 

“Doesn’t look very magical. But obviously the best hiding is in plain sight.” Said Sherlock an looked both ways down the street. “What am I to expect?”

John drew a breath. “A handshake, a few questions and writing you name was what I went through twenty two years ago. I don’t think mush has changed.” He answered and smiled. “Although there are people inside I haven’t met yet and others I haven’t introduced to my soon to be legally bonded.”

With a huff from Sherlock and a slight chuckle from John they opened the glass door and entered the building. At the reception there was a woman, whom John recognised from the latest annual dinner the magical society had. Her brown hair was pulled in a knot but casual enough not to seem uncomfortable. The glasses were low on her nose as she looked up with a smile at the arrivals. “Doctor Watson, I’m Abigail we spoke on the phone,” She said and then her eyes came to land at Sherlock. “and this is?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” John filled in. “My soon to be bonded.”

The shock written on her face was amongst the most comical expressions ever seen on a woman. Her mouth was open and her eyes raked over Sherlock’s body as if he wasn’t real. The feeling of covering Sherlock up with his own body made him clear his throat in a very unsubtle way of gaining her attention again. 

“But,” her eyes didn’t leave Sherlock. “But, he’s a grown man!” She expelled and rose quickly from behind the desk. “He’s not... There’s – It’s not! He’s a grown man! This joke isn’t funny Doctor Watson.” She was almost desperate and pleading and still a bit intrigued by the taller man with his dramatic coat.

As she went round the desk she straightened her pen skirt and reached forward her hand. In the exact moment John put himself between them.

“We’ll see him now, please.” John’s voice carried dangerously though the room. No one was permitted to touch Sherlock to verify their bond or Sherlock’s newly found core before a real check-up and registration. Who knows what spell could be stuck upon Sherlock before they’ve registered Sherlock natural magic. The lady retracted her hand and it fell sheepishly to her side.

“Of course. I’m very sorry. It’s just that. He’s not a child. This has never even been heard of.”

Sherlock placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “It’s fine. John has trouble believing it himself. Now if you please, we were on our way to meet someone.” While John stared at Sherlock he saw the blinding smile – although false – grace those features and something inside him snapped. Determinedly he reached for Sherlock’s hand and quickly laced their fingers together. He showed that witch who was bonded with whom. 

The taller man stared at their joined hands but said nothing of it when he looked up into John’s eyes, probably seeing the jealousy bubbling. The thing lines travelled up their arms under their clothes and set the hands in an unnatural glow.

Abigail retreated behind her desk and nodded before she bent down and pressed a button on the phone. “Doctor Watson is coming up. Be ready for a surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I promised at least one chapter last week and didn't deliver. So here's one. Unfortunatley I'm too busy to write this really and I am sorry because it's an tremendously fun story to make. In the near future - at least three week ahead -other things are calling my attention so this will be (like it isn't already) thrown on ice. Maybe a chapter here or there will be posted, don't give up on me because I haven't given up on the story.
> 
> I have one thing though I need to ask you. Do you reckon this having a chapter from another's point of view? I'm thinking Mycroft, Lestrade or Sherlock. Or do you want everything from John's?


	10. What's up, Doc?

John knocked with his now gloved hand and stepped into the office. It was quite true that so far there was no indication that this was a magical centre. The walls were peacefully cream coloured, the floor covered with an easily cleaned carpet and the hallway was lit up with florescent lamps. Quite normal, a bit of hospital feeling though.

The room they stepped into were also just as ordinary. An office. Two chairs in front of a simple but beautiful desk, two pictures and a stack of paper. The two bookshelves decoration one wall was filled to the point where some book had started a pile on the floor.

He heard Sherlock snort while he glanced around, probably deducing of the quite uneventful job of being a magical doctor. Not many patients and most just spells being the troublemaker, easy fixed, even John could do it.

“Ah, Dr. Watson,” A man with a goat beard and a shirt one size too big immediately came forth when they stepped into the room. “So nice to see you again.” The man took John’s gloved hand in his and gave a firm handshake.

“Dr. Travis.” John replied with a hint of a smile.

“I see you’ve grown since last time. When was it? Two years ago? Time serves you well, dear friend. You’re getting stronger by the day, I can feel it through your protection. Oh, you must excuse me. Who’s this young comrade?” Dr. Travis extended his hand, which made Sherlock send a questioning glance towards John. Whatever he must have seen in John’s face decided that he’d shake the older man’s hand.

The doctor stared at Sherlock’s face as soon they made contact, without any protection.

“Sherlock Holmes. As you see – or feel – we have what I’ve heard a quite unusual situation.” The smirk at Doctor Travis shocked expression set John into a snicker. The doctor let go of Sherlock's hand and started to wander around in the room.

“Yes, and my soon to be bonded. Apparently.” John added.

Travis mouth was like a goldfish, trying to form words but nothing escaping his lips. Until he took a deep breath and swirled around the room with his eyes now and then stopping at Sherlock. “Yes, yes... Of course. Oh dear. When she said... Well, I never believed this would. A teenager maybe, but a full grown man. Johnny boy I thought you’d lived long together!” A sudden shadow crossed against John's face. The mentioning of 'lived long' awoke the memories of three years alone, without Sherlock. he gathered himself quickly and put on an indifferent mask. "Yes." He answered briskly.

The magical doctor’s face became suddenly wary but with a hint on anger, challenging the blond who stood just as calmly as if nothing was wrong. Well, nothing was wrong in John’s eyes anyway. Sherlock, the almighty manipulator had tricked the Gods to give him a core. Probably. On top of that, left John to suffer before. The magical doctor still stared challenging towards John.

Who also knew that if Doctor Travis would attack, court wasn’t far away and John would probably win.

“I have been living with Sherlock for a while, Doctor. But recently Sherlock and I accidently bonded without Sherlock having an active core. It suprised me as well as you.”

The bock bearded Doctor set his hands flat on the desk and stared into John’s eyes. “You haven’t kept him hidden then?" John shook his head and said no. 

Travis squinted. "Bonded you say? Let me see, as long as you’ve been together a touch would be inevitable.”

John nodded.

“Yes, and I’ve been informed that the glowing should be the initial part of this bond. Am I correct?” Sherlock said with an air of irritation. Travis nodded this time, shortly, so Sherlock stretched his hand towards John. Who removed his glove again and placed his hand in Sherlock’s. They both stared at each other for a millisecond to long before holding up their skin to skin contact and thereby revealing the lines. Doctor Travis fell into his chair.

“Oh dear. A few day’s old only. When did this happen? Two, three days ago?” he fumbled uncertainly with his beard for a moment before beckoning them over. “Come here, Mr. Holmes. John, would you please take a seat.”

John did as the doctor said and watched as Sherlock dramatically made his way over to Doctor Travis who seemed impressed, excited and nervous at the same time. “Sherlock – May I call you Sherlock?” The tall man nodded. “Sherlock, would you please hold your dominant arm in front of you and your palm pointing towards the wall. Good, good. Stretch your fingers a little bit. Thank you, this won’t hurt, tickle a bit maybe but nothing will be damaged.” Doctor Travis took up a metal object from his pocket and drew it across Sherlock’s palm in different patterns. Every time he came to the middle Sherlock’s nostrils flared a bit. John knew the feeling. It was as if someone irritated you with a feather and then just let the feeling linger, giving an uncomfortable tingle until you rubbed the spot. It was like that for him when he hadn’t used magic for long. A few years.

“Right. Good reflexes. Steady flow with the magic. No abnormalities. Oh dear. A nearly full developed core in the course of three days. A bit unusual. Have you experienced any accidental magic, Sherlock?”

“No.”

“Ah, do not forget the wet notes.” John said and looked fondly at Sherlock before he caught himself and aimed for something more like a joking face. Which only got the death glare from steely eyes.

“I haven’t rained on my notes.” Sherlock said sulking and looked like had ruffled feathers.

Travis chuckled. “Weather is quite simple to manipulate, Sherlock. I’m sure you didn’t do it on purpose.” And that comment made Sherlock look like a ball of feathers.

“If you please remove your shirt so I can have a look on your heart.” Said the magical doctor, and suddenly John knitted his brows. Sherlock was his! How dare a simple Doctor come and tell Sherlock to get naked in front of John, without his consent! Probably Travis would see the sheer beauty of John’s bonded and then he would take Sherlock away from him and then there would be no John and Sherlock! No sex on the fucking living room carpet! There would be no get to know the feeling of their magic bouncing together! No more living together!

He saw Sherlock starting to unbutton the first two buttons of his shirt before the entire stack of paper suddenly fluttered to the room and stuck on the window, covering the whole surface except some spots here and there. Both the Detective and the magical Doctor stared at John who was now standing up. 

“Ah,” Travis begun. “I see. I’m sorry, John. Would you rather have me standing by you?”

John nodded but suspiciously eyes his acquaintance as he made his way over. What was this man up to? Was Sherlock unharmed? He seemed to be fine, but one cannot always tell about him.

Sherlock was still staring at John even after both John and Travis was standing side by side on the other side of the desk. 

“This is completely normal. It’s the core mostly, as long as it’s new and still bonding as yours do you will not lose each other to someone else.” Travis explained as if Sherlock was a child. The dark haired man snorted but resumed taking of his shirt. Fully free from the garment he looked a bit bored at Travis.

“John, follow me.” The two doctors neared Sherlock but they stayed a bit away from him. “I’m going to need to examine him. I’ll tell you the exact procedure and you will closely observe if I do anything inappropriate you are free to push me away.”

Well, it was a simple procedure. A few seconds later the object with which Travis had examined Sherlock’s hand was now circling around Sherlock’s left nipple. The core was screaming to John to put himself between them, even though the constant murmur of the procedure helped easing the possessiveness he didn’t feel one hundred percent secure.

He remembered when he first entered the quarters of a magical physician, a teenager and so happy to finally use magic, just as his parents. They hadn’t been so jealous when Travis’ predecessor touched him the same way. Well, his mother and he didn’t have the unusual bond John and Sherlock had.

Just as that thought flew past his head the Detective covered his chest up and searched out John’s eyes and immediately John felt a bit calmer.

“So, Sherlock please take a seat with John. I need to ask a few questions.” Both blond and brunette sat down in the chairs that were placed for visitors. Travis sat down behind the desk, opened a drawer and fished out a pen with two single papers. “I’ll need to fill these forms and they have a few questions, nothing too personal or something you would be uncomfortable to answer, I hope.”

John nodded but Sherlock was completely still.

“Sherlock, your family, who’s got the dominant magic in your parent’s relationship?”

The man questioned furrowed his eyebrows a notch but answered. “John has told me my mother and father does not have any active gene of a magical sort.” At that Travis head looked up so quickly John though he might have experienced a whiplash just by watching someone. “And I’ve been informed that both my parents need to have them, which makes this a mystery, wouldn’t you say, Doctor?”

John nearly revealed a smile as Sherlock’s tone almost sounded like Mycroft after eating Mrs. Husdon’s cake when Sherlock returned. It put a dagger to John’s heart to think about it. 

“It certainly is. John, are you sure?”

“Yes, no trace of magic in them while shaking hands.” John confirmed. 

The magical doctor drew a hand through his hair and sighed. “Interesting...” The next question was about age, birthplace, current home address and a bit of background history like schools, family in general and so forth. 

“Very well. John, Sherlock. I need to get these down,” Travis motioned to the covered window. “But you are free to go. I’ll archive the results and the paperwork should be ready tomorrow and thus assigning you a private tutor, I’ll expect it to be Mr. Hench or Mrs. Greenwood. Unfortunately I need to report the discovery so we can make further discoveries regarding Sherlock unique late blooming, and the confirmation of your bond should be booked as soon as possible. I’ll call down and get you a meeting with the court. I’ll message you when I know.”

John and Sherlock rose from the chairs. “Thank you, Travis,” John said and held out his hand towards the doctor. “See you soon then.”

“We will. Good bye.” 

Sherlock strode out of the room with a nod while John said farewell and they left the building with the glare of curiosity of the receptionist at their backs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still wish you to correct me on anything you find. 
> 
> This is probably the only chapter that will be posted before Easter. There's no easter eggs in this one though. A shame actually, would have been fun. I've come to an decision about the different POV problem. This story will be completed in John's POV, and in the end I've decided to put a few extra chapters/already written chapters and write them from other's. Is that satisfactory?


	11. Waiting...

“So,” John said when they reached the sunlight outside. “An hour. Care for some lunch then?”

“I don’t see why not. Not the restaurants down the street though. Bad service.” Sherlock answered.

John chuckled. “Personal experience?”

The detective glanced at John, who immediately felt like he wanted to hold Sherlock’s hand again but refrained and put his own in a pocket. “The man, walking briskly out of there went calmly in when we arrived before. And a couple, eating breakfast was not very happy when the food arrived.”

“And all this from a glance.” John murmured, although he’d lived with the incredible man for a long time he didn’t stop to amaze.

“And personal experience.” Sherlock said smiling and started to walk the other way. “I know another restaurant around the corner. A bit more expensive but I’ve seen your wallet. Those extra shifts give more than you’ve counted. Hence your new socks.”

John once again wanted to lace his fingers with the longer ones inside the Belstaff coat.

 

When they arrived to the restaurant, John felt slightly underdressed but the service was still good. Probably much better than the other place. “Okay, give me your deduction of Doctor Travis.” John said when they were waiting for their food to arrive.

“He’s jealous. Extremely so too, his grip on the instrument he used as he checked me was unnaturally stiff. Two children, divorced twice, one child per ex wife.”

John nodded in confirmation. Travis had mentioned the second divorce when they last met. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

Sherlock regarded John for a while. “How do you think I did?”

He loved it when Sherlock did this, actually putting John in focus of his brilliant mind. Even if he wouldn’t compare to what the master detective the sheer attention from someone as him made John slightly giddy, especially now when they were about to confirm and legalise the bond. Although that scared him a bit. They would be in the spotlight for a time and not be able to get away. Maybe he should consult Mycroft with such concerns.

“The pictures of his children. The mark from his ring upon his finger, but how you got to two divorces. No idea.” John said.

“The pictures were taken at two different occasions, but the children looked nothing like each other except hair colour. Two different mothers then.”

John smiled. “Amazing.” Whenever Sherlock did deduce something that simple, John felt like hitting his head. “Truly amazing.”

“Thank you. After lunch, where to?” Sherlock said as the waiter came with their water and took their orders.

John took a sip. “Registration and a judgement on how valid our bond is. I would also expect some kind of trial concerning your… late development.” John knew that the whole board of magicians would be there to witness that someone already as famous as Sherlock now would have tricked people to think he has awoken a supposedly dead gene. Well, if the gene now could be considered dead if it never lived. And as if it hasn’t been mentioned a few times since the discovery, that he is a grown man with a core that should have evolved far earlier or not at all.

John could see the trial in front of him. The men watching every single glance Sherlock and John would give each other. Well, there probably would be some women there too, speculating why this unique happening had occurred. One woman was eyeing Sherlock a bit too much below his face and John could feel the strong will to make her eyes bleed. Make her seem very sinister, crying blood, sinister indeed. Make people around her not wanting to be close. Ah, but that might give Sherlock a reason to actually take contact with her, because she’d become interesting. Sherlock could fall in love with her. Weave his magic with her. Not that it would be as strong as if Sherlock was with John, but still. Sherlock could and would hold her. Kiss her. Fuck her. No, John probably would have to take high measurements and kill her befo–

“John, calm down.” Sherlock was holding his glass in a weird salute. But as soon the images from John’s mind cleared the awkward position Sherlock was posed in dropped and his shoulders sagged a bit as if he’s been holding the glass from flying away. “John, I know I don’t know much about magic but should you really demonstrate it now? Seems a bit reckless, don’t you think?” He whispered.

The doctor’s eyes fell on the raised glass, and because Sherlock position seemed like he was about to toast with John, he took hold of his own glass and raised it to gently tap Sherlock’s. “Cheers.” He muttered. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Yes. What would you think of to make the glass almost smash into the waitress?” Sherlock studied John for a second. “Ah. Jealousy. Why?” Another second. “She wasn’t flirting with me you know. She’s obviously together with a man a few years younger than her. People older than thirty wouldn’t be her thing.” Sherlock smirked as he drummed a gentle beat of the surface of the table.

“It wasn’t her.”

“But it involved me.” The smirk still in place.

“Didn’t say that.” John defended himself. If Sherlock was trying to pry out the possessive thoughts inside the shorter man’s head, he would fail. 

“Didn’t deny it either.”

The course came in, and they ate a while under silence. Tiny scratching sounds of metal on metal and metal on porcelain. John mused on what the next hours would be like. Except unnecessary watching of Sherlock by other humans. He could see the judge making a sour face followed by a surprised one as Sherlock walked in. John’s Sherlock, the one that he would be able to hold hands with and to share invisible bonds with. Their cores were now happily humming like an extra heartbeat, when their feet only were a few centimetres apart. John couldn’t wait until Sherlock would be strong and controlled enough to share his magic the same way John could, it would be glorious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for such a crappy chapter. I'm sorry for being away too long. There was much more to these weeks than I'd expected. I'm just sorry.
> 
> Anyway, even if it's a quite boring chapter I needed it for the next thing that's going to happen.  
> Once again, I'm asking for anything strange you can find. Grammar? Spelling? Anything wrong or something I need to change?


	12. Judgement

They were back. The receptionist was once again eying Sherlock and John had to recite all the songs on the new album he illegally downloaded a week ago, or he would cut her into pieces.  
He caught himself thinking it, imagine it. How could he have become so possessive in just a few hours? Sherlock didn’t seem affected as much maybe taking a step back and letting John have control over this. It was his biology and life really, Sherlock just happened to slip in. He knew that these feelings would arise in time and were especially strong the first days but the recorded cases including bonding was telling a very thin story of just wanting to have the other close, not wanting to murder strangers who accidentally looked Sherlock’s way.

During the two minutes back to the building, John almost lost it three times. One man just happened to block Sherlock’s way and they were trying to get past each other for one second before the man smiled and stepped aside. The second a girl barely seven years old mistook Sherlock for her father, but then saw his face and she ran away to her family. Last there was a woman in her late forties asking for directions. All scenarios absolutely innocent but still John couldn’t stop the jealousy that sparked within him without any reason to.

“John Watson!” A man came up to him from the lifts as he and Sherlock sat perched upon two chairs with a cup of coffee each. “Good to see you! You’re all over the building, people whispering and gossiping. Just like old times.”

“Sherlock Holmes.” The detective injected before John had any time to answer.

“Of course you are! You’re also very popular right now. Very nice to meet you, I would shake your hand but I believe you’re not initiated fully into the registration yet and wouldn’t risk anything considering you’re not wearing gloves. But here I am rambling, Arthur Milliner at your service. But Johnny-boy here called me Bob because of a lost bet. You wouldn’t want to know.”

John stared at Bob and flinched a bit when the man threw an arm around John’s shoulders. The man was bulky, worked out way to often to be considered healthy. “So Johnny-boy this is your mate? Remember when people swooned before you when you showed of a little. Is that what you’ve done to this poor fellow? I’m telling you right now Sherlock, this man-” Bob pointed at John “- is a man of your dreams. If it wouldn’t be so that he was already taken in school by that Olympia I would have been all over him. Still would if he hadn’t gotten himself a bonded.”

“There was nothing between me and Olympia.” John defended himself. “And I’m not gay.”

“Well, you’re not straight anymore Johnny. You got a boyfriend now.” Bob was flashing smile that would make John melt if it weren’t for the rapidly growing sensations Sherlock gave him. Bob was very close to converting John into homosexuality more than once in history. “Anyway, they sent me.”

The air went out of John’s lungs. They, indicating downstairs. Indicating judgement. Indicating manipulative bastards. What would they try this time?

“I assume they are waiting…” John muttered and exhaled a bitter breath.

“As always. Not to worry though, they are all talking about your mate. The whole theatrical performance down there is for him, not you.”

John sent Arthur a long glance. “Trust me it’s just as much for me.” And with that he went towards the lift. “You know what they want. Why not try once again?”

Arthur laughed and then clamped a hand on Sherlock shoulder. “Johnny here is regarding the guys you’re going to meet with displeasure.”  
A sudden flare of magic escaped John’s hand in a warning was Arthur was smiling at the detective. Not strong, only a warning but the smiling man suddenly removed his hand from Sherlock’s person and looked a bit guilty. “Sorry. I didn’t know. How strong is it?”

John, once again control over his core, averted his eyes to the lift once again when the doors opened. He stepped in and pressed the lowest button. “I don’t know. Strong regarding the little contact we’ve had.”

Sherlock stepped in the middle of the two friends before the doors closed and held John’s gaze in the polished surface ahead. Those grey eyes holding questions but obviously not asking them with an audience. There was also a small string of something John couldn’t identify so he left the reflection and looked at Sherlock’s profile, but Sherlock did not turn his head. The small pang of guiltiness came then for no reason. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he?

“So Johnny I heard about Olympia, I’m so sorry. She was a nice girl.”

“She was,” John agreed, “although I haven’t met her in years.” Even if his voice held, his eyes he was sure betrayed his sadness. As Olympia was not a recent visited friend he tried to force himself to try suppressing the friendship they once had. But back then it had been deep.

Arthur studied John for a minute, but then said quietly; “You know what this means…”

The doors opened. John knew very well.

“John.” Sherlock said and the blonde turned towards him after stepping out of the lift, and as soon their eyes met John understood. The deep nervousness behind that stony façade thrummed beneath John’s skin too. The magic was begging them to seek comfort in each other.

“Come on, no time to lose.” Arthur said and pushed the two newly bonded in the direction of the hall. “The courtroom, John, I trust you know where it is. I’m needed upstairs. I’ll see you later!”

The lift closed behind them and the dark hallway stretched out ending with a simple oak door. John swallowed a lump and watched the almost black walls. If this wasn’t for the theatrics, he didn’t know why the headquarters of magic in London had to be so… gloomy. This was truly ridiculous.

“Sherlock?” 

A low humming answered as they made their way towards the only door.

“Try to keep quiet. This is important, if not for you but for me. Please no deductions aloud.”

Sherlock stopped and stared at John, who looked over his shoulder. “Please?”

As if it would be a heavy burden Sherlock sighed. “Very well. Anything else?”

John smiled, he adored Sherlock even with a childish behaviour. There was a man who needed some kind of guidance and fixing through social life, something John was determined to help with. “No. Yes, let me talk.” And after a bit of afterthought from Sherlock’s side he nodded. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“You’re welcome.”

John stopped a second before the door and collected himself. Three, two, one. He pushed the door open. And in front of them stood more magical humans than John had seem in a room together since the last meeting choosing the new judge. He stopped dead in his tracks. Fuck. This would be unpleasant.

“John Watson. Sherlock Holmes. Please, sit.” In the middle of the room two chairs stood facing the Great Table. A Table high above the two bonded, which five males sat behind. One more powerful looking than the next. The round room was adored with galleries now filled with people, looking down at John and Sherlock.

John simply sat down in one chair, followed by his friend who did it undoubtedly more gracefully in the other. It was not unexpected but still a bit unnerving to have such an audience. John scanned the rows of folk, recognising a few of his fellow friends during the magical events throughout his life. At last his eyes flew to the elderly man in the middle of the Great Table. “Judge.” John nodded.

“John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, rumoured to be bonded. Is it true?”

“True.”

The judge sneered and squinted with his small eyes, making them almost disappear behind his glasses. “According to papers this man you have devoted your core to is not a magical man. How do you explain such an event?”

“I am not sure of Sherlock’s sudden developed core. I am sure, however, that he did not have one before.”

Another man along the table piped up, “There has never been recorded of such an event before. You are either born with a core of not.”

“And therefore I do not know its origin.” John replied with a crease between his eyebrows. Where was this heading? A murmur seemed to be spreading through the hall, to which the judge raised his hand and everyone quieted. 

“You do have certain knowledge in magical biology and such alike. Yes or no, Doctor Watson?”

“Yes. In both magical and non-magical biology.”

“Are you not also having a degree in both subjects?”

“I do.”

Sherlock moved uneasily in his chair with a sour face. He had probably followed the judge’s thoughts already and come to a conclusion. 

“I see.” The judge commented and smirked. At which point Sherlock leaned towards John.

The baritone voice whispered in John’s ear and sending delicious strings of want though his body until he actually heard the words.

“They are blaming us for the murder of Mrs Grudge.” Sherlock murmured and John’s magic seemed to flare wild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally been able to find time to write. What a joy! :D  
> I hope you found it interesting.


	13. Theatrics

“I have not killed Olympia Grudge!” John stared daggers at the judge who seemed to shrink a bit in his high chair but then quickly scrambled himself together. The lines on John’s arms seemed to glow through the protective shell the jacket.

“I have not made such an accusing claim. I am merely pointing out for our fellow citizen in this room that Olympia Grudge a few days ago was found dead in the street not far from Doctor Watson’s residence. Not only has his companion unexplainably gotten himself a magical core but also the points where Mrs Grudge had been shot where the essential places on the body for magical activity.”

Sherlock would never kill someone, and he didn’t even know about magic before a few days ago. But as soon the words left the judge’s mouth John rose quickly and pulled of his gloves.

“Doctor Watson, please sit down. You are making more than one person uncomfortable.”

“I would never kill her!” The sparks between John’s fingers lit up a white glow illuminating the hall. “I have no connection to Olymipa’s death more than we were friends!”

The judge looked uneasily around, people were murmuring again, tearing their gazes between the man standing and the man behind the table. “I am aware of your earlier relationship, however there is certainly a mystery how Mr Holmes got his core activated. We are just investigating possible solutions, and including your knowledge of both magic and biology you cannot deny there could be a connection.”

John’s eyes were almost glowing with hatred. That man in the middle of the Great Table had the stomach to accuse both him and his bonded of murder and being protected by the law when everyone knew that he was not strong enough to hold that position but taking it by heritage from his sister, who for the record did a much better job dealing with subjects like the one played now. However he was not alone in his thoughts that the judge and thereby one of the ambassadors for the few magical societies, should be deposited. More than once the words had been whispered ‘Judge Rathbone should leave his post…’, ‘Did you hear about the man who told his non magical girlfriend about what he could do? He got his core exterminated and now he’s in a mental hospital!’ and ‘Well, that one with sweet little fifteen year old girl who accidently made a newspaper levitate after her? Rathbone deemed her to be killed!’ and last ‘The woman who hadn’t done anything also got beheaded for the murder everyone knew was the husband’s fault! Guess who judged it a perfect punishment? Yes Rathbone!’

“And you do not bother to hear me defend myself and my bonded?” John asked sarcastic with the knowledge that there had been many unfair judgements under Rathbone’s command.

The man sneered but John found himself have the upper hand when he saw Rathbone look uneasily on the audience. And then he seemed to come to a decision. “I could fairly easily say that it would be a waste of time when –”

“Why are you afraid of John?” Sherlock said and the hall halted into silence.

The judge spluttered a few seconds and his eyes looked indiscreetly for an exit before he answered. “I am not.”

Sherlock scrunched up his nose for a second. “Very well. However I was under the impression that this would be a display of how strong and valid John’s and mine bond is. Not an accusation of us killing someone I have never met.”

Rathbone sneered. John’s glare and Sherlock’s reminder seemed to upset him more than necessary. “This is the demonstration! However before we could determinate if you indeed have the right to this...” His face scrunched up in a painfully ugly grimace and ended the sentence with; “… core.”  
“To settle this quickly. John was at work when this murder happened and I was with Lestrade. Erasing both as possible murderers just call them and verify my words. And now both have alibies and therefore we can continue without the assumption that John and I have killed someone to make me like this.” Sherlock crossed his legs and fell silent with a watching eye on the judge who seemed to splutter and stutter and finding a loophole to further accuse the bonded.

John then sat down. Even if he had asked Sherlock to keep his words to himself those sentences had settled the audience into a constant murmur of approval towards the two men on the floor and also serviced as a final statement to actually make this circus into a demonstration of the bond.

A man with a slim face and a blond haircut, making it look like he wore a toupee, then rose from behind the table and clapped his hands. “Very well. During the confirmation of this statement from Mr Holmes, the bond tying them together will need verification. As Mr Holmes do not have taken part of any training considering magical exertion this bonding need to be confirmed again as the training has been completed, if The Judge – ” He bowed slightly at Rathbone who sported a not so very amused look upon his face. “ – do not deem Mr Holmes to have his core executed.” At this Rathbone seemed to shine bright again. The glint in his eyes bespoke of trouble and his posture straightened as if he suddenly had gotten all power in the world. 

The thin man hurriedly added another combination of words that punctured the picture the power mad judge seemed to have gotten. “However I will remind everybody here that such an act of The Judge will only be executed if the alibi Mr Holmes and Dr Watson do not agree with the one given by them.”

John snorted. The reason why The Judge didn’t order it out at once was because of the disagreement many magical people had with him. The only way to stay in power was to give them a hope that it might be a possibility for Sherlock not to practically be beheaded. 

“Well, let’s see how strongly these two cores have aligned themselves.” Rathbone said and waved his hands in what he probably thought was a nonchalant manner but everyone saw through his bluff. “We need to see this happen before our own eyes before you leave, we need to see it actually exist and if it’s valid.”

Warily John glanced around the room. Among them woman with dark coats and black hats as if this was a funeral. Some men wearing their suits with dark ties and slicked back hair. But those were few, old and traditional and probably excluded from the modern world, possibly trapped in their own belief that magic should not exist amongst ordinary humans. John could understand those people, it had been accidents involving both parts of the human race. However he didn’t agree that closing oneself of was a solution. No, it had to be a slow exposure so the world could get used to it.

Most part of the audience was ordinary people, traveling with buses or eating a scone at a café. People amongst people, dressed in grey, blue and yellow. Strangers amongst strangers. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

John removed his coat and rolled up his sleeve. Then he started to take of his glove, picking one finger of it at the time in a slow rate. Making the five men at the table a bit twitchy and the men and women lean forward in suspension. Well, if the rest of this ridiculous theatre could play out, John might as well do his own show. He let the glove fall to the floor in a black heap, his hand now normal skin coloured. 

“Sherlock?” He reached his hand forward over the star pointing out the cardinals on the marble floor. Gracefully Sherlock rose from his chair and looked John in the eyes. Understanding and trust mixed with a bit of defiance – towards Rathbone John supplied in his head – in that gaze. He dispatched the coat in a dramatic fashion by twirling it around him and then rolled op his own sleeve. The two steps towards his bonded seemed to earn gasps from the audience and then he held his hand a decimetre above John’s. Obviously Sherlock also had noticed the performance for the men and women sitting around them, and he was acting along beautifully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... I have been lazy.
> 
> No really I'm having a little trouble with where this is going, actually. It's becomming much longer than I expected. I had hoped in my tenth chapter that it would only be five or six more but it has really just started. From my original thought of just introducing Sherlock to magic, I have been sloppy enough to put in an actual murder to be solved, damn it. May the stars have mercy on my soul.
> 
> And as always grammar mistakes are to be expected as it is unbeta´d. Just as with spelling, brit-picking and so forth.


	14. The Feeling of Touch

That was what they were reduced to. Two actors playing a dramatic scene. Both so used to it, still it was something thrilling and somewhat rusty like an old play. They stood like two statues facing each other, reading the other’s eyes and only finding a steady gaze.

Milking the situation to the maximum, they started to walk slowly in a circle. The audience gasped as they each took a small step towards each other. Not touching but obviously dancing and the sound they made the onlookers make only fuelled a small smirk on John’s face.

They stopped and Sherlock lowered his hand a fraction, not very visible to the rest but a clear question to John, who slid his hand up to Sherlock, making them stand with their palm against palm.

The doctor felt the relief of touching his bonded instantly, and even if Sherlock also reacted he showed it much less. John watched Sherlock once again watch fascinated as the veins of magic under their skin started to glow and travel up their arms. In the distance John could hear the murmur of surprise, exclamations of awe and sighs, but what was important was the connection to Sherlock. Sherlock who was only John’s to care for. John would protect him. Exist, live, breath and feel for Sherlock. There was no one else. Only Sherlock.

John slid his fingers between the longer and more delicate ones, resting them in a loose grip when he reached the juncture and soft tissue between. It would be enough for them to stand like this in eternity. Always touching, always feeling, and always being together. It would be enough.

He slid his gaze to Sherlock’s face, a veil of calm passing over him. With his eyes he trailed every piece of the skin there, the small scar by his lip, the birthmark over his brow, the lashes, his nose, lips… everything. The most wonderful person was standing in this peaceful place among chaos. There was nothing sexual by it, just a natural sensation of rightfulness. Like feeling a light breeze caress sunbathed skin.

When the thinner fingers gave a gentle squeeze John started to focus around him. The murmur wasn’t as far away, and the men by the Table had varying faces. Two with pleased smiles, one with a thoughtful wrinkle between the eyes and then the fourth one watching the audience watching the bonded. But his regard soon enough went from passive to a bit disturbed. Although Rathbone’s grimace of pure anger seemed to have drawn some attention itself.

“The bond is valid, and in an early state.” Said the youngest of the men at the table and then turned to Judge Bathbone. “That is a legal bond, with no taint. There’s nothing legally that could be done to sewer it.”

The audience let their collective breath out and went into applause but it was quickly silenced by Rathbone’s hand held up high. “The bond is indeed valid but the murder of Ms Grudge is still under investigation and therefore I wish to have reports of every lesson, every week of progress. If Mr Holmes is proved guilty an immediate death sentence will be in order, the same goes for Dr Watson. Is that understood?!”

People in the hall rose angrily from their chairs and shouted abuse at the judge, throwing insults and objections in sentences more colourful than the rainbow. But as the judge rose and screamed. “It is decided!” the other men except one left before his blue hand rose and sent a light to the ceiling, lighting up stars that made the seal on the floor seem like a cheap decoration. He shuffled out of the hall after leaving a paper on the table.

The awful reality of the sentence made even John’s blood boil. Rathbone had threatened his mate, threatened the bond and therefore also threatened the magical society. The men and women sitting around looked confused at each other before rising and leaving the hall. The still angry mob talking of unfairness. John could do nothing but agree.

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock?” He looked over to his bonded. 

“Are we done here?”

John nodded. “Almost. We need to sign the paper.” They walked with their hands linked towards the table and stopped before the remaining man of the council.

The bearded man spoke with a raspy voice. “I am truly sorry for today’s inconvenience. We told him that such matter regarding Ms Grudge was for another time. Sometime when the court could have been private.”

Sherlock puffed. “I believe that it was taken care of? Both John and I have an alibi.”

The look the man gave him spoke of a sorrow and regret. A few seconds ticked by. “Mr Holmes if you so kindly would sign here.” Sherlock grabbed the pen and wrote his name. Then John did the same with his left. “Mr Holmes, Judge Rathbone is a powerful man. A fact in this case can easily turn out to be fiction.” With that the man rose and went out the hall, leaving the bonded.

John sighed. “Let’s go home.”

Sherlock stared at the closed door behind the table. “Let’s.”

In silence they rode the lift to the surface of earth again but as soon they stepped out the mob of magical humans started to swarm around them. Asking all kinds of questions, all from their feelings of politics to how good the other was in bed. And the last one made John blush, the question he wanted to have answered to was how likely they would be ending up on the living room carpet. Even if the people was very eager they didn’t touch them all very aware that their bond was new and therefore could provoke uncalled situations if someone touched the other.

Sherlock seemed to stiffen a bit but still held his insults to himself even if it was clear that they wanted out. John nodded at the receptionist before they vacated the building and hurried into a cab.

“221 Baker Street.” Sherlock said to the driver and then turned to John. “Idiots, all of them.”

“Not all. Most of them.” John gave a very pointed look.

Sherlock nodded. “Especially Ratbone. We both know that we’re innocent.”

John spared glance to the driver who was drumming with his thumbs on the wheel. “Let’s talk about that later.”

Sherlock nodded again.

The silence were very short though. “He has no children, hopefully sterile.” Sherlock said almost as an afterthought. “The wife hates him, it shows clearly on the horribly maintained clothing he wore. The barely contained anger indicates that he’s trying to be more than he is, compensating for the failure his life really always have been. His shoes show that the money he owns is not a balanced economy. Even though I just saw a quick glance of them they were almost falling apart, considering that idiot’s place in the world one might think he has enough money to buy a real pair of shoes. But either is the position not giving him money enough or it gives him too much. Too much is my guess. He can’t handle money and misuses his powers.” The monologue was completed with a few hand movements and an expecting gaze towards John, who started laughing. 

“Wonderful. Sterile? Really?”

“Hopefully.” John watched as Sherlock’s smile stayed on as he looked out of the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. I just noticed how many that has been giving me kudos and even bookmarked this thing. I feel honored. Thank you :)


	15. Hush hush

They arrived home after a while, exhausted and somewhat baffled about the whole process. Still giggling though because of the long list they had made during the ride, a list of things that they wished and knew Rathbone were.

So far the most worthy they had come up with sterile, aching joints, would look awful in a dress but even worse naked, bad economy, hateful children, had a stalker called Steve – admittedly that was the cabbies idea - , allergic to various foods and so on.

Sherlock threw his coat onto the rack and then fell down on a chair at the kitchen table. He eyed John as John searched through the cabinets for flour. The shorter man felt the eyes on his neck and once he found what he searched for and looked inside the jar he realized that they would order in tonight.

“Today was most interesting. Are they always so…” Sherlock made a face and gave a small wave with his fingers before continuing. “… dramatic? Suspicious?”

John laughed, nodded. “Well, the whole thing about us being murderers is more a try to get us out of the way. I – sorry, we have a bonded and are therefore more powerful through both magically and through media than Rathbone is. We are stronger together than he ever could be alone. The whole thing about this society is power, like amongst animals. The stronger the better.”

He fished out his phone and dialled the familiar number to a takeout close by. “It doesn’t mean we want to cross him though.” He put the phone to his ear and ordered quickly, the man on the other end now quite familiar with John’s voice.

“How come no one goes against him?” Sherlock asked when the doctor pocketed his phone again.

“They’re either not strong enough or afraid of outing the magical society. The expected outcome would be imprisonment and experimenting on the few of us left.” John sighed and leaned against the counter. “We get fewer and fewer children with magical abilities every year. Estimated that there are about a few thousand maybe even a few hundred magical people left in the world, I don’t know, I have no legal right to the registration papers. But an outing would be… disastrous. If ordinary humans want to kill us, we all would be dead within a week. The war would be the shortest in history. If they want to capture us? Maybe two weeks. All needed is a little magical display in public and the government would be upon us, killing us in cold blood with bullets while we can throw a little bad weather at them. An outing would mean magical humans against ordinary people because we would be visible for everyone else. A revolt does not after all happen in the quiet.”

John watched as Sherlock twisted and turned the situation in his head. “The reason why Rathbone is still on top is because he has held the magical people secret. I conclude that he needs to have some sort of people backing him up though, if there would be an outing.” Sherlock reasoned.

A bitter laugh broke free from John. “Yes. Try your brother, for example.”

“He’s not magical.”

“No, but he knows.” John said and turned to the cabinet to retrieve a glass, filling it with water. “Mycroft probably had a file on me long before we met. Ready to kill me if I am proved to be dangerous.”

“Probably…” Sherlock murmured and then those piercing eyes fell on John’s. “I need to think.”

John made a twist with his hand. “By all means. I’ll be with Mrs Hudson.”

Sherlock’s nose scrunched up. “No, get a book. I need to borrow your hand.”

“My hand?”

“Yes your hand. Now, get your ghastly uninformative book and join me immediately.” Sherlock rose from the table and walked over to the living room to loom in the window. John glanced at the taller man before stomping lightly – nothing to disturb Mrs Hudson – up the stairs to grab his book.

Well, if Sherlock was going to borrow his hand to make that experiment with the feather Sherlock’s been working on John would by all means try to get out of the flat. If it would come to have his hand grace rotten fishes again he would cut it off.

Finding the book where he left it the night before, he headed down the stairs again and into the living room but as soon he stepped inside Sherlock spoke from the window.

“Go and get the takeout, money’s in my coat pocket. Give him a generous tip, he’s five minutes earlier than normal.”

John once again did what Sherlock said and gave some extra to the young man. He smiled and closed the door, bouncing up the steps again and re-entering their living room. “What do you want me for?”

Sherlock seemingly had been lost in thought, turned around and looked at John. “Ah, yes. Please push that chair over by the couch.” He threw himself down in a dramatic fashion over the bigger furniture and then dug around to settle the pillows correctly for his comfort. “A little bit closer… Sit down, John.”

John, who had been getting the chair – that they considered his – over to face the couch closely, sat down and waited. When Sherlock finished his job with the cushions he looked over to John and frowned, reached behind himself and over the arm of the couch to turn on the lamp that stood there. “Now, get your book.” John reached over to the table and got it. “Open it. Read.” John did look at him funnily but did as told, taking a slow breath.

“’The advertisements on –‘”

“Not loud! It’s distracting me. Now give me your hand.” Sherlock barked, and sank lower into comfort while holding out his hand to John, who examined it for a second. What was the purpose of this? Was he going to be karate-chopped? Slowly he laid his hand on top of Sherlock’s and the deep feeling of freedom rushed through him. He could feel all his tensions blow away and the calluses on Sherlock’s fingertips brushed lightly against his knuckles as the grip shifted and they were holding on to each other.

In the slight darkness of the room John was feeling tired but peaceful, like coming home. His magic was calming down after a few seconds and pumped with the rhythm of both their hearts. Slowly he could feel the slight difference of Sherlock’s magic, weaker and slightly wild – like a kitten –, not enough to do much more than only exist and wanting to be noticed.

He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. It was pure bliss to feel this and he wondered vaguely if this was what addicts felt when they used drugs. He had been injected with morphine and such alike while healing from the gunshot, but that was more like a fleeting feeling. Touching Sherlock made John felt safe and grounded, not like walking on clouds. But if the feeling resembled in any intensity or level for an addict he suddenly felt some understanding for them.

In the distance he could hear the book fall to the floor and every coherent thought seemed to blow away and he enveloped himself in the darkness with Sherlock’s magic swimming through his veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been injected with morphine so apologises for the vague description of that. I've only heard it makes you feel like walking on clouds and that you believe you can do anything! Which you can't... Sorry to kill that dream for you.
> 
> This chapter is short, and many of them have been short, I'll try to make the next one longer. 
> 
> Anyway, as I'm digging myself a deeper hole (or trap myself in a corner?) because of this story you get to enjoy some cold takeout and "new" faces in the next upcoming chapter.


	16. The thing about Mycroft and the thing about his brother

The thing about Mycroft was that he tended to have a way to look down on you even if you were the one in advantage. The resemblance between the two Holmes brothers stopped at their nick for observation and deduction. Mycroft was the proud but slightly terrifying in a way that made you think every single breath you took and ever will take would be noticed, cataloged, filed and then classified. Sherlock on the other hand was the passionate, rebellious and obviously younger brother of the two. 

When John had awoken at the morning with bad breath and a kink in his back he also had to welcome the sight of an older Holmes standing in the doorway while Sherlock was trying to glare away the man from across the room.

After what felt like a few seconds Mycroft was seated in the other chair with a cup of steaming tea listening to Sherlock muttering from the kitchen. The dark haired detective had tried to use the violin before John threatened to strangle him and replace him with a dog. He had also tried blowing up an experiment but John just gave a long look and the components were back where they belonged. In the bathroom mirror.

Finally they had settled down and moved the chair back to the original place so John sat down and faced Mycroft. “How are you today, Mycroft?” The sarcasm was thick and the just as sarcastic smile John got back spoke of how easy John could be wiped away from the world.

“I am well, John. I trust you are the same, bonded to my brother and all.” The man was twirling that godforsaken umbrella and John felt a streak of nervousness. “I am a bit worried of the sudden announcement, though, after knowing each other for years.”

“We don’t know what happened.” John answered carefully.

Mycroft didn’t show one of those quick false smiles, but the action was implied when he said; “I’m sure you don’t. I however am even more concerned about the accusation.”

“Accusation?”

“Of murdering Mrs. Olympia Grudge.”

The flat went quiet. Did Mycroft really think they had done it? John voiced his question.

“No I don’t believe it, but others believed Mr. Rathbone’s explanation. Under normal circumstances I would have a much larger hand in this, but as this is regarding…” Mycroft paused and got a small wrinkle between the eyes as he searched for the right words. “…people of your nature, I have less to say about it. I can confirm that my support will be given to the extent I can give.”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “That is generous. Thank you… How come you tell this?”

The taller man in the chair took a slow sip of tea and opened his mouth to speak but shut it quickly as he heard steps ascending the stairs. A woman’s no doubt, if a bit slow.

When the door opened up, Mrs. Hudson stood there in a newly bought dress and a platter filled with cookies and crumpets. “Woo-ho? I hope I’m not interrupting something. I bought some things to nibble on boys. Good morning, Mycroft.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Hudson.” Mycroft replied and nodded slightly.

Sherlock was suddenly in her face and helped her put down her gift and turned with blinding smile towards her. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I am afraid we are in a little bit of an emergency meeting with my brother.” The last two words turned horribly sweet in Sherlock’s mouth, to the point it became awful to listen at, even Mycroft sneered.

“Oh, it’s not about that murder of the girl? The French one? That must have been a horrible mistake! Did you know she was also pregnant? Dreadful.” The old lady laid a hand on her cheek and then over her mouth, while she looked wildly between the three men. 

Mycroft rose from his chair and put on a faked smile before he touched her shoulder and started to lead her out of the flat. “I assure you this is of a private matter. I would be delighted if you would join us for a cup of tea after we have discussed our problem.”

“I will hold you up to that, Mycroft.” She said before he closed the door in her face. When Mycroft turned back to the two younger men in the room he heard her walk downstairs again. 

John grimaced. “Well, you could have been more polite.”

“We do not have enough time for that. The reason I offer you my help is because you are deeply involved in a discovery of the century regarding… people with abilities, and indeed the murder. I also know that you are not guilty, but the reasoning for the possibility that you have on some way extracted a core and put it in somebody else–” He pointedly looked over at Sherlock. “–is surprisingly strong.”

The dark haired detective wrinkled his nose. “We do have an alibi.” He sniffed.

“It may be so but the circumstances are something of unique, and we do not know what caused your body’s sudden realization of magic. Theories are going to be thrown right at you and there’s little for me to do to protect you here.”

“Still, John and I haven’t done it! There must be lack of evidence so they can’t prove it.”

Mycroft seemed to ponder for a bit while looking at John, who was just as in thought. There was very much a possibility that a core could be isolated and transferred to another human body. However the core would have stopped and died just as it left its human and would need a jumpstart to get active again. John would need to make tests and experiment a little. And of course consult textbooks of magic biology.

The older brother seemed to have followed John’s through his thoughts and when the doctor came back to reality Mycroft cleared his throat.

“I think there could be false evidence planted by Mr. Rathbone. While I am impressed of him handling the secret of your kind, I cannot phantom that convicting you would start anything but a war. Therefore I have assembled a team of researchers and scientists who’s working on finding the reason Sherlock have gotten his core awoken. They started this morning, everyone have a clean background and want the same as you, John Watson, to prove that you didn’t do it by murdering. I believe you have done some sort of impression on them with your actions.”

John wrinkled his eyebrows, and stared for a few seconds at Mycroft who had his knowing twist of lips on. The feeling of being slightly underdressed, disgusting in his old clothes and unhygienic for not have done his morning routines was long gone. But what Mycroft had done was more than John could ask for.

“Thank you. I believe they would be some of my friends then.” Mycroft nodded at the assumption.

John continued. “There could be a possibility that the murderer could have extracted the core and then awoken it in another body. Nothing is certain because I need to see the body of Olympia along with brushing up on my medical knowledge. I also believe that the core would need a jumpstart, like a car battery of human heart after it stopped. A magical surge.”

Suddenly the realization of Olympia’s death washed upon him but he clamped it down after a second, it wasn’t the time for tears.

“John, is it possible for the murderer to have given me the core without me noticing it?” Sherlock sat in the sofa, for once looking just as troubled as the rest. “Could I have contracted it without my knowledge?”

The question put John on edge, but he shook his head. “I… I don’t think so. How to get it in your heart and head without you noticing? No, I believe yours have been – of course!” The doctor bolted up. Of course. It was so simple! Now he felt like Sherlock looked while he came up a brilliant deduction! “Sherlock, of course! Jumpstart! That’s what happened! Someone jumpstarted your core!”

The brothers looked at him in shock, as if John couldn’t move so quickly. Well, he agreed that it was rare for him to do something this energizing but it was of no matter, not now!

“Someone with enough magical power could start yours! We need to find this person! Mycroft?”

The older brother raised an eyebrow and drawled. “Yes?”

“Could you get us passage to the registration papers?”

“I will see what I can do.”

John smiled. Wonderful. “Well then, finding someone with enough power can wait until tomorrow.”

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at each other.

“Well then, I need to go back to the –” Mycroft abruptly stopped himself and smiled one of those typical politician ones before starting over. “Sherlock, I do wish that the man you’ll see today not have the urge to storm, run or likewise when he leaves. Be nice. John, I’ll be in touch.” And with that and a nod towards the doctor he left the flat, closing the door silently behind him.

John looked at Sherlock, who narrowed back. “I wish that too, Sherlock. Be nice.”

Sherlock seemed a bit put upon when John said that but quickly turned towards the violin and raised his arm to start play when John grabbed him. “Sherlock, we’re going to meet someone you need. I cannot teach you this, you will have to try. Please.” For a second John wondered if he should slide his fingers along Sherlock’s wrist but decided against it. They weren’t that close, even if it would have been a plead from John, he wasn’t sure Sherlock would welcome it.

“If he would be truly dreadful and even you would dislike him?” The small bit of hope in the detective’s voice was enough for John to smile.

“Yes, then you would be welcome to scare him out. But only if I agree to it.” John warned. Sherlock started to play and it left John the chance to tidy himself up. He brushed his teeth in his white bathroom and took a quick shower to wash away sweat and the history of a bad yesterday. During his shower he pondered if he would be able to get to the library in the headquarters and acquire some books he needed. To prove his theory about Sherlock he would need facts, all collected in the volume and studies of magical medicine and biology he once got a degree for. Too bad he wasn’t putting it in practice, everything would probably be solved much more effectively.

Once he came back to the living room Sherlock had changed the attire to one which contained that devilishly teasing shirt in purple. While Sherlock stood turned the other way John couldn’t resist sliding his eyes over his bonded. Tall, dark and handsome… Not that John knew anything about that! It was just what he heard others say!

The dark man looked like he was belonging in the magical world and for a second John could see Sherlock gracefully wave his fingers and a mysterious wind would whip his locks. Then he indulged in a very quick fantasy of them sweating on the living room carpet – right where Sherlock was standing – and letting themselves feel each other. No, no, no. No! Don’t think about it. It’s only the core who wants contact!

When the other occupant of the flat turned around and picked up his violin again to place it beside the chair John quickly regained his senses and walked in.

“Is this attire suitable for today’s meeting?” Sherlock said as he sat down in his grey chair.

John nodded but said instead. “I will need to stop by the headquarters while you’re on the… meeting. To pick up some books.”

Sherlock seemed to analyze and deduce John as he sat in his own chair, and if it weren’t for those embarrassing thoughts in John’s head before he would have found it slightly joyful to be the center of Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes’ attention. However, even if it was a terribly bad attempt at looking normal, John avoided Sherlock’s scrutinizing and tried not to flush. Hopefully he succeeded.

“It’s your turn to make lunch.” John reminded him instead and Sherlock walked over to the fridge picked out something and then got a fork from a drawer. When the detective returned he handed over the cold take out from last day that had been standing on the kitchen table over the night and not before sometime during the morning found its way to the fridge. Not really caring, John dug in and followed Sherlock with his eyes as the dark haired man sat down with his own food.

They ate in silence and when they were done they dressed, walked outside, waved in a cab that went down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. (Which means mistakes)  
> Not Brit-picked. (Which means a heavily mix of brittish-, american- and scandinavian(?)- english)  
> Not even read through. (Do not know how the flow is in this chapter)  
> It is longer than many of the other chapters though. (Which is a plus (?))
> 
> If it is confusing, well, tell me. Whatever it is; grammar, a sentence/a word or even pieces of the story. I'll try to make it better in that case.
> 
> And before you press the X in the corner, the arrow that takes you back or another link/button that takes you away from here I want you to know - if you'll continue to read this story's future chapters - that this chapter might be heavily edited before the next one is out. 
> 
> Now, run along! Have fun!


	17. May the Gods have the answer

For people around, they would not see the small signs of impatience or nervousness on Sherlock. The small drumming with his fingers was somewhat calming to look at and therefore wasn’t betraying if one didn’t know the young Holmes.

Sherlock had always been an almost perfect actor. He could fake tears and enjoyment where John would stand awkward. John took pride in seeing Sherlock strip every single mask he’d ever worn and just be himself at home, because that was when Sherlock was really glowing. No pun intended.

The pale eyes were studying the people walking outside but there was an expression of calm that John had seen been slipped on as they went from home. Beat after beat the fingers that were silently moving against a knee made John nervous in turn. Because he knew they were an act. But the two humans stayed quiet until they came up to the headquarters.

John sat beside Sherlock, and even now when John only looked around he could feel it. There was magic all over the place. The seemingly ordinary folk around the unusually busy street was magical. All of them waiting for the bonded to step out of the car.

“Sherlock…” John said warily.

“I know.” Yes, Sherlock would already know. He had probably seen the woman with black hair turn halfway down the street to march right back again. He could probably also feel them. He could probably see their excitement by observing their ears. 

With a deep breath to collect himself John opened the door and was prepared to protect his bonded to every cost. When they closed the door behind them all eyes were on them, but no one went for them as they walked towards the glass doors. It was a fascinating display of respectful admiration the onlookers had – as they obviously had some interest – but they did have the manners to not approach.

John checked them in, fully planning after have had insulated his bond mate to the training to leave for the library. He asked for a pass for that which he was granted.

They took the lift to another floor and were met with an empty corridor in slightly more grey tone than the one leading to Dr. Travis’s office. The name they had gotten stood on one of the doors and they knocked before stepping in.

Bob was already there, the man John had almost fallen for. He could feel the jealousy well up but he could deal with it. Arthur – Bob – was a professional man and even if John rather would take Sherlock far away from that man he knew he could trust him. Damn his attractive looks.

“John! Sherlock! Welcome! Come in.” Bob said and motioned for them into the large room. With closer to three meter high to the roof and three times the length from wall to wall there was enough space to train the elitist. It was a nickname for the ones with ambition to take on even the hardest elements of magic – which John was against, as said earlier, moving people and conjuring dead was hard work. 

They exchanged greetings and Bob turned to Sherlock with an easy smile and it made John’s stomach knot. When Bob laid a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder John had to calm himself from lashing out.

“Sherlock, how much do you know of the magical world?”

The second it took for Sherlock to answer was filled with a calculating and dismissive stare at the hand, which Bob moved away with an apologizing grin. 

“I admit that my knowledge is restricted.” The words came unwillingly from Sherlock, and John instantly regretted that they hadn’t talked about magic on an academically level. 

They were pushed into the room and stood in the center. John a little bit of the side as he took in Sherlock’s stiff posture. He was just as uncomfortable. 

“No worries there, eh?” Bob said and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “I would advise you to read up a bit on history, society and biology for starters as it is customary for students. But to that later, we need you to be able to control your magic!”

John winced to the enthusiastic tone but tried to stay as neutral as possible, as long as Mr. Arthur Milliner didn’t touch Sherlock. Bloody bonding that made John possessive. 

“The core is like a second bloodstream, flowing through your body. The vital parts are your dominant hand, heart and head of course. Quickly explained it is the head that tells your core what it should do with the molecules and atoms around you. The core’s center is the heart. This is where it is strongest. A shot to the heart can kill your core –” Bob laid his hand over his own chest. “– while the hand is the point where the shift of the environment expel from the body.”

It was easy to remember, the head wants, the heart create and the hand executes. In history a few had lost their dominant hand but substituted it with their other, and brain damage had reduced their ability to control magic but never lost it. However, taking damage to the heart…

“I see.” Sherlock said in an uninterested tone but John could detect the hint that it would be what they were going to be talking about later.

“The core is genetically activated. It takes two parents to activate a core and if your records are correct this theory falls flat. Nothing is certain about magic, we have old texts but no modern after the Spanish Inquisition. A lot of us died then and research means human experiments. Understandably we are against such a method.”

Bob went to one of the few bookshelves in the otherwise bare room and picked something up. John walked backwards a few steps as the chalk flew past his feet and painted a perfect circle on the floor. He watched as Bob’s magic used the chalk to write the necessary cardinals and symbols to dampen the outburst of magic Sherlock would have. John wrinkled his nose as he preferred it to do it by hand.

“John, if you would like to stay it is of no consequence. We are only learning to control today.” Bob said and smiled a lazy smile. When John answered it with his own he saw Sherlock stiffen a bit, his back going in an unnatural straight line.

“I am afraid I was planning to visit the library to collect some books.”

“Ah, very well. Would be a dear and get Mr. Holmes the basics while you’re there?”

John, a bit taken aback by the sugarcoated word, nodded. “I will. I’ll be back soon, Sherlock.” He said and touched Sherlock’s back of the hand with his fingers. The faint lines pulsing twice before settling again. With that John walked out of the room, slightly reluctant leaving Sherlock in Bob’s care. What if Sherlock would think Bob was more worthy? What if Sherlock would like to break up their bond?

As he stepped into the lift he quelled the emotions and questions and pressed the button furthest down. Far beneath the ground was the library, even further than the courtroom. The ride down was quiet and John nearly wished for some music. The doors opened at the right moment before John started getting nervous. 

He stepped out into the large room. A few meters in the bars glowed golden, separating the hall from the valued books. The very feeling of the room was a typical shady and secret, as it were. The library was restricted into many mazelike sections. Only one way in and it was through the gate which a man stood outside, guarding and without the right authority and permission the gate would not open. 

John nodded at the man who just nodded back and with his blind eyes he followed every step the army doctor took. In shimmering gold the bars that kept unauthorised outside also reflected the magic power but it also held the valuable parchments and books inside. He knew that a man three hundred years ago had lived for this, taken every theory and knowledge into his collection and then protected it in the prisonlike hall. John drew his finger along the lines of the earth coloured books until he found what he searched for. He picked the heavy book by hand and caressed the surface before searching for the next.

Half an hour later he had found what he needed three heavy books bound in leather, two skinny ones and one parchment. Gently he spread them out on the table and cast a quick glance around. He was alone but that was expected. The modern man, magically born, seemed to forget about the beauty of knowledge.

He started with the most recent discoveries of the core. Thumbing through what he already knew; the core was supposedly recessive among the genes, most cases were showing when they were in their late teenage years but it was still extremely rare that someone got over the age of twenty before showing. He also skipped through the places the core made itself known i.e. heart, head and hand. He already knew it along with the process of determining the natural flow of the core. 

When he got closer to the end of the first book he had pulled out a notebook and a pen while he scribbled down the small notices he made throughout. Most important was the core’s attribute to be much alike its parents’. It would not always be that way but in at least nine hundred and ninety-nine cases of a thousand that would be the truth. It didn't make it a soundproof fact, but close enough.

Next book was significantly older and the cover was damaged badly. The first thing that caught his eye was just a few pages in. A theory of a magical god, just in the society without magic there was gods. Christianity, Islam, Judaism all praying to one god. But as the Hindus’, people with magic living ago believed in many gods. There was one god giving existence, one god giving strength and the last one in the trinity that gave belief, or hope as many would call it. Outside this holy group of three there were many others. One in particular giving abilities to manipulate the surroundings what John would call magic. This was religion and therefore not science and meanwhile it was interesting it didn’t really fit in with what he was seeking until he came to the story of the first human born with such powers. 

A woman born in the Egyptian desert lived a life full of excitement. The others were afraid of her or appreciated the things she could do. With a swipe of her hand she could kill a dozen of well armored men and in a blink she could make water fall from the skies. The pharaoh got his eye on her and demanded her by his side, ripping her and her beloved apart. But she went through with her bonding ritual as long as her only demand was met. She demanded that the man her heart really desired was allowed to be her lover. The pharaoh agreed. One night amid the woman and the lover’s coupling he had put a hand to her forehead. His hand had started to shine and the immediate loud crash had been sounding from above. After that they never left each other’s side and he had all the power she had been showing throughout her childhood. The gods talked to them and asked the couple to meet with the god that gave them this opportunity to be together. With the powers they both had gained, together they fled to the appointed place to meet up with their god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When was the last time I updated this? Like two months ago? I've been incredibly lazy!
> 
> Hope you liked the religious take on this chapter, it won't happen much more religious stuff I think... Not in this story anyway.
> 
> I also have a promt to anyone who wants to write a bit, or draw, or whatever. It's the religious story of the woman, pharaoh and the lover. I dare anyone of you to write/illustrate it (could be with the Sherlock characters... or OC). How long or short as you want, how colourful or grey as you want.
> 
> Should also point out that the Hindus are, depending where you are, both monotheistic and polytheistic. It all has to do about how you interpet the word Hindu.


	18. Uncertainty

John put the book aside, finished with it. The story reflected theirs perfectly on Sherlock’s side but the problem didn’t solve itself with stories. It could be true that this story had some elements that could help John in his search. Maybe he should start with the history of magic instead. 

After some tapping with his pen on the notebook he decided to get the book with somewhat recorded history. The one huge problem the magical world had was the insufficient data on earlier happenings. The library he vacated was one of the few left. Most of the records got burnt in the fires of the World Wars and Spanish Inquisition along with the witches. Hitler had known on some level but had only killed a few of them. Why, John didn’t know.

He guessed along with many other theories that Adolf could have seen the witches as weapons and those who didn’t fight for his believes and his cause was burnt at the stake or killed mercilessly. No one knows or knew how he got in contact with it. He did – after all – succumb to madness.

Slowly John began to read the book he’d dug forth. Most interesting pieces in the beginning of the book was found along with the bond people shared how it developed the same in a number of different couples. Once again he moved on to the ending of a book when his eyes caught a paragraph. Quickly he read about the pair that had a son without the magical influence of one of the parents. The woman, who was no witch, swore that she did not lie when asked about cheating on her husband. The man however had become devastated, mad and left her. His name was proudly presented in the end as William Wilde.

John switched side and continued reading but got no explanation to why the son had gotten his powers. Several theories were mentioned though through the next couple of pages. One theory claimed that the core didn’t exist but was a mere imagination by several people and thus made it a form of cult. Witches were a cult with the same belief of magical powers which they didn’t possess.

At the written statement of the concept John raised an eyebrow as the author was indeed magical herself. 

A second one he found one man giving arguments for the core being a scale of the human imagination. He wrote about how it was a proof that those humans that didn’t define themselves by scientific laws did have greater cores. John puffed. Science was something not any spell could bend because it was science. By combining molecules and changing energy and by changing just one factor of the environment around one self, thousands of spells could be casted. However the possibility that wanting to change a lot of nature’s laws was possible to create more abnormal magic, the elements in the magic could add and retract forces to create something more. But it would still be science they couldn’t move material if they didn’t break it up and put it together elsewhere. As when John teleported his father, the man had been put together again so quickly that he hadn’t even felt it.

With a slam he closed the book. It was an interesting theory and even if John had his own it did not solve the question of exactly how cores were created. Especially Sherlock’s.

A quick look at the clock and John decided that it was time to go back to his bonded. With his left hand he elevated the research material from the table and let them fly into place amongst the shelves. He rose and left. When the gates came in sight again he could feel the amount of power they possessed. The library was steadily building with handmade notes and printed books. One by one they were brought to the shelves all from scattered places of the earth.

The blind man nodded again as he got passed by John. Inside the elevator John picked up his cellphone and watched the bars return as he got closer to the surface of the ground. Three massages came at one. One from the dentist, one from his work and the last one – a bit unexpectedly – from Mycroft. It stated that no solution on the core had been found and that the clearance to get to the registration of magical human beings was slowly going forward. He sent a text back with the words ‘Keep me updated’.   
Sherlock as it seemed was truly drenched as John got into the room. Bob was trying not to laugh obviously as he held a hand over his mouth and shook. The doctor found himself wanting to protect his bonded from humiliation and swung his hand in an easy motion to move the water out of the fabric. 

At that moment Sherlock spun around and John could see the gorgeous man being a bit furious. The knitted eyebrows and unhappy twist of his mouth revealed more to John than to anyone else.

“We have done nothing productive here.” Sherlock said with a slight snarl.

John put his hand inside his pocket. “The basic step towards greater magic starts with mistakes. Weather is also quite simple to manipulate and conjure but difficult to alter. It will take some time, give it what it needs.” He hoped his voice was calming. 

Suddenly Bob raised his hand and the burnt chalk on the ground swept into a little pile and moved itself into a dustbin. “Well, John. He certainly got some to learn but I think it will take no time.” Bob turned to Sherlock and laid a hand on his shoulder. “No hard feelings, man. You did great for your first time. We’ll be together many times more.” Then came a wink.

When Bob’s eyes flickered to John he immediately removed his hand and smiled an apologetic smile.

After that the pair fled the building with a fast goodbye and hailed a cab.

“I don’t like him.” Sherlock said whispering.

“Doesn’t surprise me.” John’s voice was strained. His bonded hadn’t exactly encouraged the flirty behaviour what John knew, but he hadn’t dejected it either.

Sherlock got a wrinkle on his nose as he said the next sentence. “He touched my hands.”

At that John whipped his head at his bonded, started to see red. “How much?”

“Only in the beginning. Obviously lying when he said it was for reassuring himself that I was able to do magic.” Sherlock said with a tone in his voice that John couldn’t decode.

John clenched his teeth and his fingers twitched. The possessiveness was trying to take over but with a few breaths and forcing his head to turn to look out the window again it became easier to control. “I understand.” He croaked. 

Maybe that wrinkle only was of curiosity on that beautifully sculptured nose. Maybe Sherlock really wanted the other man’s touch instead of John’s. The feelings were going in waves and he realised that Sherlock wasn’t really John’s. And it made the clench around his heart almost unbearable. Sherlock was going to leave. He was leaving for someone else. A life without John.

When they arrived John left quickly to let Sherlock deal with the cabbie. Almost running up the stairs to his room where he closed the door quickly and slide down to the floor. He was almost ready to cry. Everything was lost. If Sherlock was leaving, the few months the detective and the doctor had had together since Sherlock’s return was purely a sadistic trick of gods. John had been presented with this wonderful opportunity to be by Sherlock’s side to his life no longer was in him but it was going to be blown away because Sherlock saw something more in someone else. What a cruel life. 

It burned behind his eyes but still the tears wouldn’t come. If the younger Holmes brother had seen what he wanted in Arthur – Bob – Milliner, who was John to stand in his way? Had he not given Sherlock permission to go his own way if wanted?

He could hear his bonded wander around in the flat downstairs and probably doing some experiment. Slowly, John closed his eyes and listened to Sherlock moving. The melody of a lone violin started up after what felt for John as hours. Perhaps it had been that long, maybe only minutes. He lost track of time after that, listening to his flat mate’s Siren music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wohoo! Two updates in a week! 
> 
> Not beta'd, not even read through a second time. 
> 
> Good news: The next chapter is under construction. It is an insanely long story... My wordcount is over 30,000.
> 
> Was this chapter weird with John's absolutely unmotivated breakdown at the end? I'm trying to make him a bit depressed and desperate.


	19. Breaking magic

At some point during the evening Sherlock must have gotten a message from Lestrade because suddenly he heard a call from below.

“John! We’re needed! Hurry up!”

Desperate to cling to whatever Sherlock was going to give John scrambled up from the floor and went downstairs. When he reached the bottom and Sherlock paused when he saw him, John remembered that he still was in his outerwear. Almost six hours since they’d arrived home.

For a moment it seemed like Sherlock was debating something with himself. But then he seemed to come to a conclusion and handed a pair of warm gloves over. 

When they stepped out of the cab it was dark and chilly. John drew the zipper in his jacket all the way up to his chin. But as soon they came into range of the crime scene John stopped. The place reeked of bad magic, affecting the humans within the area. Even the animals were drawn away. They were at a graveyard, some mice or birds should be around but somehow they were not in sight.

John quickly shot out a hand to catch the sleeve of Sherlock’s coat when he got closer. The taller man seemed to feel the aura too and stayed put. Lestrade were huffing when he reached the pair. “Well, Anderson is giving me hell. And I won’t even start with Donovan! Everyone here seems incompetent enough to never have seen a crime scene.”

“Clear your men from the area.” John said, and Lestrade stared at the doctor for a second before seeking confirmation from Holmes. “Wait by the road.”

When Sherlock nodded courtly Lestrade went into action and yelled for everyone to leave their posts and head away from there. Of course it was met with a wild wall of protests but one threat of being fired and they went grumbling and unwillingly. The last one was directed at Sherlock and John twitched.

The pair stood by as all moved far away until they would not see too much. Lestrade left last.

“Don’t contaminate the crime scene.”

When the grey haired man was out of earshot Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “I believe this has something of an extra element to it.”

“Yes.” Was John’s short answer as he traced the outline of the magic. He stopped and took a step into the circle it was cast in. It was a fair bit to the corpse lying in the middle of the spacious field. He took a step out again and felt the effects slowly ebb away. From Sherlock’s point of view it would probably look like John was trying to hunt in a perfect ring around the victim, if it weren’t that the eyes were everywhere else except on the corpse. John’s eyes traced the lines the magic had tangled and was invisible to the one without the proper knowledge or power.

Something this complicated could be two things, either an offering ritual or rune magic. Neither John was overly good at. When he completed two laps around the area he stopped in front of Sherlock who watched closely.

“It is as if we’re invited.” John said after a while. “The entrance is right here but I can’t find the beginning. It is layers upon layers.”

“What is it?” The baritone came from behind John.

“Can you see it?” The shorter man cast a glance over his shoulder.

“No. I can feel it though.” Sherlock said and scrunched up his nose. 

John nodded, put a pair of plastic gloves on his hands and stepped into the web of magic. Carefully not touching any one of them he bent under and stepped over every power line. At a few points he had to return a few paces and find another way as he put himself at dead ends. Halfway John had to stop and survey the area again with a troubled face. It was as if he was lead through to the other side by his own magic. Without any other way to go except the one ahead, he made his way to the other side, doing what he thought must look like a strange dance. 

On the other side though, it was simpler to maneuver though the web. He made his way fairly quickly to the center and the corpse. He bent down slowly and traced the ground looking amongst the leaves and upturned dirt. When he found what he searched he picked it up in his gloved hand and flipped the small piece of bark over. The small rune got crushed in his hand and half of the threads around him fell.

By the corpses feet there lay a small bundle, the leather adorned with another rune. Making sure none of the police or unwanted eyes saw him he set the little pack on fire. As it burned the area cleared of the magical lines. 

John looked up to Sherlock who stared back with an intensity he’d only seen directed at the dead. The space between them seemed to reduce as the shorter man rose from his hunched position. Sherlock took a few steps forward.

“Wait.” Warned John and searched the trees on each end of the field with his eyes. Carefully he went over to one tree and scratched out the last rune that was imbedded there. “There you go.”

At once Sherlock was bent over the dead girl and prodded her while muttering under his breath. John stood at the side of the tree and cast a glance towards the team talking by the road. From there they could see him but not Sherlock.

A cry of irritation came from the tall detective as he sampled the dirt. “No instinct or respect for productive and actual work, those idiots.”

A few minutes passed and Lestrade ventured back to the pair. “So how’s it going?” He asked John.

The doctor shrugged and let a slow breath out of his nose. “I’m not sure… He seems a bit aggravated like there’s something he can’t really figure out. He blames it on your team.” The last sentence said in good humour. 

The inspector laughed under his breath and pulled his jacket closer. “Sorry for the unfriendly welcoming. I guess all of us were in a bad mood, murder isn’t as exciting for us as for your friend there.” He vaguely nodded towards the consulting detective. 

“No need. We all have bad days. Sometimes taking a short break is the only thing to ease the soul. 

Sherlock arrived at the two men with a troubled face. “Same places of entering by bullets…” He paused and looked John in the eye with a too serious stare for John to feel comfortable. “…heart, head and hand. She was also very pregnant, probably in her late seventh month or early eight. Do we have any identification on her?”

Lestrade, taken aback by the question seemed to struggle for his answer for a moment. “Uh. Yes, yes. Daisy Horn. Twenty seven, her husband has his own business company and she was unemployed at the moment. Nothing strange really. The way she was murdered though is. It is bloody well identical to Olympia Grudge.” 

Sherlock nodded. “The victim was killed by a handgun, first shot to her head while standing and the rest lying down while she was still alive. The killer stood over her as he shot her. One foot on either side of her body. I want her address and access to evidence and files on her and also to Mrs. Grudge’s.”

Lestrade nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll text you as soon everything has arrived.”

With nothing more to find out at the scene and Sherlock clearly wanting to tell John something, they left. The cab ride was quiet because of the man driving was eyeing the pair as if he recognised them. When they stepped out John got his answer.

“Good night, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson.” The driver said as he received his money. Only one of them did bide the man farewell before going inside.

As soon the door to their flat closed Sherlock threw himself on the sofa and looked expectantly at John as he undressed his outerwear. When John sat down Sherlock immediately opened his mouth.

“The two women were magical. It is most probable that the murders occurred because of that.”

“Probably.”

“What did you destroy?” Sherlock said and sat up.

John rubbed his neck and leaned back. “It was magic consisting runes. I destroyed two runes and one witch pack. It can mean two things. The first; that the caster could be too weak to make them without a rune. Or it could mean that the spell is too complicated or impossible to cast without one and therefore binds them together.”

Sherlock stapled his hand sunder his chin and John continued.

“The thing that made me cautious was the witch pack. I’m not sure what it was doing there. It held the last magical lines at the field but it was only one of the contents that held it. The rest was almost as if they were consumed or emptied of their purposes.”

There was a silence before Sherlock exhaled through his nose. “What if it is about the children?”

John’s body suddenly went cold. What if?

“Maybe the killer is after what’s inside those two women. What properties does an eight month old fetus have?” Sherlock glanced at John.

The doctor shuffled around in his chair for a second, very uncomfortable with the thoughts swarming through his head. “Well, it would help its mother with the magic. Even if it cannot expel any spells on its own before a certain age the core is helping its mother to an extent by sharing until the separation at ninth month.” It is the only thing that is significant according to magical children. “We are not sure if – Daisy? – was a witch.”

“As soon as Mycroft have given us clearance to the magical archive we can crosscheck with it.”

John did an uncommitted sound. “I think I need a cuppa. Do you?”

Sherlock nodded and followed John with his eyes as he entered the kitchen.

Could it be true that the two horrible murders happened because of two unborn children? The feeling of it was both disgusting and a bit worrying. If someone was after the children then the barely existing birthrate of magical babies would be equal to naught. The slowly decreasing magical society would be nothing in a few decades. The thought was worrisome.

 

As John put two cups down he felt a hand slip onto his wrist. Sherlock stood behind him and the waves of his bonded’s magic soothed. For a minute or two they stayed like that before John spoke.

“Thank you. Let’s get back to the living room.”

When they were both crammed down in the couch and watched a rerun of a horrible series – that Sherlock had deduced the ending of after the pilot – both were quiet for a long time. John then went to the kitchen again to get another cup. For a long time he just stood. Staring blankly at the kettle before he felt it physically. The trembling in his hands and the wave of exhaustion. He was not made for being accused of murder. He’s not made for the pressure of magic and expectations around him. He was not made to be bonded. He did not deserve Sherlock. The detective should have someone strong, equally beautiful and intelligent. Someone that hadn’t been broken. John didn’t deserve Sherlock …

As he turned around Sherlock stood behind him again. The gaze wandering over his face to his hands with an empty cup cradled in them and then back to his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock said slowly and picked John’s cup out of his hands. Gently, as gently as John ever seen him, Sherlock placed it aside and grabbed John’s hand. “I’m sorry. I will never leave you again. Never. I was wrong last time.” The doctor had to look away, stretching his eyes to the cup.

The magic settled as a comforting blanket and passed between them to relieve the other of worries. The glowing lines up their arms slightly visible under their clothing.

Sherlock continued by gripping John’s hand a little firmer. “I have no intention of leaving you again. You are here, John. It is everything I have. Everything. I was lost so many times when you…” He quieted but John knew. He was lost so many times when they were not together. When they didn’t have each other.

As if the burden and anxiety slowly lifted John put his forehead onto the taller man’s shoulder. He whispered softly. “I was lost too... I think I still am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was planned to end here originally with Sherlock accepting his new life and promise John to stay with him. But me and my stupid imagination decided that we need to put John and Sherlock as suspects for a murder. And look at that, f*cking 31,000-ish words and we have arrived to a point where Sherlock have apologised for something that has happened months ago! BEFORE THE FREAKING STORY EVEN TAKES PLACE!
> 
> Rule nr. 1 children: Plan. Your. Bloody. Story.
> 
> I suppose you know the drill by now; not beta'd or read through a second time, and it's written in the middle of the night.  
> *mumble* *mutter* *rumble*


	20. Stepping out of the fog

Sherlock seemed to stiffen a bit when John’s forehead made contact with his shoulder but he didn’t move nor protest. By just being there John could breathe slowly to compose himself again. Well, until – 

“Ho, ho?” came a voice then a knock. “Sherlock, dear? John?”

The two men took a step from each other and as soon as John nodded Sherlock turned into the living room. “Mrs. Hudson.” He said as a greeting.

“Oh, Sherlock. I saw this wonderful scarf on sale today and I figured that your old one needs to be replaced.” She drew out a blue scarf, much alike the one Sherlock already had, from a bag.

“There was no need for – ” Sherlock began but quieted when she wound it around his neck.

“Hush now. Let me be an old woman and care for my two boys.” She patted Sherlock’s cheek and then reached into the bag again. When she held up a pair of gloves she made a cooing sound. “And to the nice doctor. I hope they are the right size.”

Rightly so, they fit perfectly. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson.” John said and smiled as he flexed his fingers in the new leather gloves. Even if they were on sale they must have cost a great deal. “An early Christmas gift?” he asked knowing very well it was a long time before the snow should break from the sky.

“Just a little gift. Oh! Silly me, a letter from Mycroft while you were gone.” She handed it over to Sherlock who passed it on to John after he had read the envelope. The neatly written letters did spell his name and was sealed tightly at the back.

John smirked. “What are the odds that Mycroft actually got the clearance?”

“Clearance? To what?” The old lady said a bit worried, and held a delicate hand over her heart.

John ripped open the envelope and answered. “To some records.”

“Oh, is it still that murder of the young woman? The one they think is linked to the girl in the graveyard?”

“Daisy Horn. Pregnant. As Olympia Grudge.” Sherlock started and John cringed. “The two are most likely linked murders, but no need to worry, John and I are on it! We need to access a few records that are under protection, hence the clearance.”

“Sherlock…” John warned before the thrill of showing of to Mrs. Hudson would become too much for the detective and he would reveal the slight magical nature of the occasion.

“However it is true that this case is not to be known officially. It stays between us, and for all legal reasons we need to keep most of it secret, especially the details. Even from you Mrs. Hudson, I’m afraid.”

The woman just made a small move with her hand and nodded. “I understand, anything with that brother of yours being involved tend to be all too secret for an ordinary citizen like me.” She made a move towards the stairs but turned and smiled. “I have made dinner dears. Will you come down and eat with me?”

Both men thanked the woman and told her that they’ll be down in a second. And as soon she had descended the stairs they picked out the letter within the envelope. John silently drew a breath of relief as he held a clearance written with black ink and sampled with a logo far too old to be remembered where its origins began. 

“Well, then. I’ll go tomorrow and get the records while you are with… Arthur.” John tried to not feel some kind of negative feeling by stating it, but it made him want to keep Sherlock all to himself. 

The rest of the day was spent with Mrs. Hudson to Sherlock slight annoyance, but he was good enough to stay with John and her until the hour became late and it was time for bed.

After a nice couple of hours of sleep and a healthy breakfast for John – Sherlock, of course, only drink a half cup of coffee and a piece of toast – it bore of to the head quarter again. Leaving Sherlock with an uneasy feeling in John’s stomach he pressed a button in the lift. He nodded at the gentleman already in it but stepped out of it before they could reach the entrance level.

The records were stored in the actual building instead of underground like the archive and library. The third floor to be exact and he stepped into the left door of the two in the corridor that took a turn further ahead.

A blonde secretary sat behind a desk and a unsuspicious door, but John could feel the magic seeping of it. Like in the library this place was highly guarded but just a fraction less. Looking closely one could see the skirting boards covered in almost unnoticeable symbols. 

The blonde smiled at him and rose. “Dr. Watson. It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Fiona Heart. I heard about your bonding, such a happy time. Unfortunately dampened by Mrs. Grudge’s death.”

He shook his gloved hand with her but before he could utter a word she exclaimed. “Oh! I can feel you even with the gloves on! I never thought – Mr. Holmes is a lucky man to have you as his bonded. Such a privilege! Now, what can a man like you want from little me?” She battered her eyelashes but John had already noticed that she discreetly tried to hide her left hand. Then she laughed. “I am joking, Dr. Watson. Engaged, you see.” She held up her hand and showed of a simple but tasteful ring. 

He smiled stiffly. “Congratulations.”

“Now, do you have a clearance?” She demanded but still with a smile.

John pulled out the document and showed it to her. “It is bound to the case of Olympia Grudge.”

The woman nodded and read through it before speaking up again. “Clearance until the case is closed. Well, this way then.” She opened the door and beamed an easy smile. “It is ordered alphabetically. A copy of every original though out the world.”

She closed after herself and locked with a key hanging from her neck. 

“I am searching for Olymipa Grudge’s and Daisy Horn’s files.” John said as they walked through the aisle of shelves and cabinets.

She led him to them where she picked them out and gave them to him. Sure enough, Daisy was a very strong witch. Class two. And he wondered why he couldn’t remember her from the parties the aristocracy seemed to like in the magical world. His answer was on a page further back. Weak health and two terminated pregnancies plus one stillborn, two of the pregnancies looked over by Dr. Travis and one by a Dr. Hall. The newest seemed to be on its way also supervised by Dr. Travis until the file ended with a document marked deceased. ‘Suspected victim of murder, details, case and ongoing work are classified.’

Well, that was what he could deliver to Sherlock about Daisy. He put the read file on a cabinet and opened the one on Olympia. The lump in his throat suddenly made itself known. With a slow breath he started to read, trying to distance himself from acknowledging that he was about to read about his childhood friend. 

Married and expecting with supervising by Dr. Travis. Olympia was witch with adequate powers, class three to four, and a normally happy life. But the file ended just like the other with the note of being under further investigation. There was nothing under classification except the last part. One notice about a parking ticket and of course the full story and development during the teenage years was everything. She was really only a normal person married to a slightly richer magical witch. Armand Grudge.

“Could you kindly get the file on the husband, Armand Grudge?” John asked the blonde that stood and hummed for herself while zooning out. She came back to reality and the doctor repeated himself. She hurried away and John waited. She returned with two files and John stared at the second one. ‘Sherlock Holmes’. Well, it was intriguing to start with it. However John took the one on Armand first.

Just as Olympia, Armand was a class three to four but was invited to parties anyway. Usually those parties where only from class three to two and class naught. All of Armand’s money could fix him in. He had a company known for its clothes. Few enemies. But then something caused John to stop, Armand had made a huge deal of showing of his pregnant wife and held events to his wife’ and child’s honour. Being public both in the normal and magical world meant exposure to everyone. Every. One.

Promising to remember that to give the information orally to Sherlock he slowly reached for his bonded’s file. It was quite slim and very new. The cover was in a dull brown just as the others and the name written with the standard text on the front. 

The first page gave away his birthdate, full name and address. Under the category of family there was a clear red ‘CLASSIFIED’ and John had to laugh at Mycroft’s influence here. The class was undetermined. And in the middle of all the information that made John’s heart want to stop and beat twice as fast at the same time. ‘Partner: None. Bonded: Yes. Dr. John H. Watson.’

John traced his name with his finger and then flipped the page. All Sherlock’s detective work and the case about his death took up a major part in the file. Then the mystery of the suddenly developed core, followed by a note of it being under investigation – CLASSIFIED. There was also a picture in the end, showing the two of them circling each other at the courtroom by the Great Table. On the back their names and date was scribbled. A few magical newspapers had written some articles about them but it was mostly just an exclamation that they were bonded and gossip about them being suddenly gay for each other. As if there hadn’t been enough of those rumors already without the magic. 

Since John didn’t really have anything else to investigate he quickly memorized the facts he had gathered. He exited the room and said farewell to the lady. The lesson Sherlock had was still going on as John entered the room and almost got covered up by clouds. John walked out of them and saw Sherlock standing in a perfect circle and it was glowing. Rapidly changing from green to white the chalk frizzled and John had to swallow when he met his bonded’s gaze.

John had of course not missed the heads the tall detective turned as he walked passed people. He had an aura of confidence and dressed of course in only the best of clothes. But Sherlock’s face was really where the attention went. Lips perfectly bowed and eyes with more power than the queen herself. Those eyes could make you obey and beg. A quick look could kill. Cheekbones, forehead, chin and hair were almost sculpted to perfection. Not to talk about the strong body that was covered up by the dark coat in the winter. 

But as Sherlock stood in the circle with his arm outstretched and eyes focused truly on John. The shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and lines adoring his skin like a glowing tattoo. At that moment John felt the tug of arousal and possessiveness that he’s been afraid to really experience. His mate – his bonded – was making magic in front of him. And it made him want to fuck Sherlock right there against a wall.  
In the background Arthur stood and had a face of greed with his attention fully on the detective. John suddenly disliked the man and quickly stepped over to Sherlock. He stopped just outside the circle, knowing that his immediate presence could make Sherlock very unstable. If John really wanted he could probably contain the magic Sherlock held but still it would probably lash out when released, destroying the whole room.

As soon Sherlock let go of the fog around them John grabbed his hand and stepped in close. Arthur would never look upon his mate again with such want, or he would meet the consequences. John would keep Sherlock all to himself and kill anyone that just looked at the detective wrong.

With an almost unconscious action he let a warning pulse go through the space around them. Reaching Bob, John saw his smile falter and turn into a stony façade while facing him instead. He felt Sherlock turn into his side, and stand so their hands were clasped slightly behind John. When he looked up he cached the murderous gaze Sherlock had at Arthur. 

“It’s enough for today.” Arthur said with a cold note. “I believe we should continue this tomorrow, Sherlock. I am afraid Dr. Watson’s presence disturbs the controlled situation we have here.”

At that John snorted but kept quiet and while Bob got into an offensive stand John just stood there knowing that a fight would give him two victories. Both legally and magically.

Sherlock sent a wave of magic through John who answered with the same. The doctor and the detective were on the same page. They would protect each other in an attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this as a christmas present for you. Where I'm from we're celebrating christmas the 24th. I know, greedy and impatient we are.  
> However, there's (finally) something happening with Sherly and Johnny's relationship. 
> 
> The story starts to finally take the first steps towards a climax (I do not know if it's a pun... That part is still a bit shady.) and I have decided how to tackle the problem with me wanting to write from other character's perspective. Scenes will be written and posted in the same series but individually, or something like that. Some might just be the other character's perspective on a scene in this story or an singular happening which is not portayed here.
> 
>  
> 
> Hopefully I might be able to write a chapter for New Year too... The major problem is that I work A.L.O.T. this time of the year.


	21. The Royal Hall of Winchester

Arthur Milliner, also known as Bob, was no longer having a direct contact with Sherlock. He was replaced after a complaint and some help on Mycroft’s side. Now a lady whom both of the bonded had some kind of liking to made Sherlock progress much faster than a normally developing core should already after three weeks. The lady, Mrs. Frisk, had insisted that the training Sherlock was going through had to be practiced on safe grounds and therefore was still in the room at the headquarters. 

After every session the detective and Mrs. Frisk had John got an update on what they had been doing and how Sherlock advanced. And when the next murder appeared John dissolved the magical minefield with Sherlock at his side. In the woods the girl was buried, deep beneath a fallen tree. And it was there they found themselves a Saturday morning. 

The young girl John quickly discovered had also been pregnant and a witch. He recognized her face from one of the parties the aristocracy at least once a year invited to. It wasn’t until the middle aged man was discovered – killed with three shots – when they got the invitation however.

But the main concern for John was Sherlock. The detective had taken to playing the violin badly in the middle of the night more often than not. And they now sat and stared into the fire which was lit in the fireplace. On the wall behind the sofa was a net of the murders from both magical and ordinary papers. Strings attaching to a photo on one side of the wall to another or connecting an article with notes scribbled from John’s memorized facts in the archive. 

Sherlock paced and it had actually made a few scratches in the floor from shoes and other things he dragged with him. John sometimes watched his bonded stalk back and forward mumbling or just outright stomping. However as soon John tried to calm his flat mate, Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom. 

Sherlock had just gone through the whole plot and theories on why the man suddenly was killed. John, being a doctor of both worlds, had discovered that the core was drained. It was gone, removed. Sherlock theorized that the murder was about the cores, not the babies. This seemed to make Sherlock a bit apprehensive and aggravated to come to a conclusion. Both men could agree on that the man was not well known and foreign. The passport in the man’s pocket found a few minutes after was Turkish while Sherlock deduced this case. Barely visible marks around his wrist witnessed of struggling while being held down and his soles was new but slightly worn down with results of running according to Sherlock. 

The blood around the man was sprayed upon the walls and the detective quickly deduced that the crime had happened while the murderer was in a hurry. The first shot fired from a handgun and the bullet had traveled through the victim’s hand. There had been a struggle and then the two last shots had penetrated the body. It was also in those five first seconds of arriving at the crime scene Sherlock deduced that there had to be two murderers. One holding the man down while the other pressed the gun to the Turkish man’s head and fired. 

The only thought John had was how much more suspicious the two of them must look to the magical world. Extracting a core was only something a few people had knowledge of. 

In 221B, Sherlock paced again before settling down on the chair.

“John, I need to know which men have knowledge of magical biology.” The piercing glare John received was wasted as John picked at the armrest of his ‘own’ chair.

“I don’t know Sherlock. It’s classified and I won’t be able to get in there. Ask your brother.

“No.

“He might be able to help.”

“No.”

There was a silence and then Sherlock sneered.

“He’s fat and lazy.”

It made John snort. “Maybe, but it is your only shot.”

“I won’t call him.”

“Suit yourself.” John finished.

At loss on what to do he picked at the unopened envelope that had lain on the coffee table for a few days.

The thick paper was adorned with a golden handwritten address and on the back an insignia in red wax. Too fancy for John’s tastes, just as the parties. Ballroom dancing like in fairytales, and too much champagne for the men to turn them into bumbling idiots with too grabby hands. Or in rare cases, unthinking witches. It had happen more than once that a man had exposed magic in front of normal humans. 

“Sherlock.” He said softly. It took a few seconds but the man turned his attention towards the doctor. 

“Yes?” Sherlock eyed the envelope but then huffed and put his feet in the chair. “Open it then. I’ve have seen enough of uneasy looks from you at it.”

John opened his mouth to protest but closed it and nodded. He was very uneasy with the prospect of parading Sherlock around like a grand prize. He was also angry of the attention they would get, they were bonded after all. The huge happening in magical history for twenty five – or something – years. 

Instead he threw it at Sherlock who picked it up from the floor where it had fallen after the envelope bumped into his chest. With efficiency and grace John never in his life would muster Sherlock opened it.

“’Dear Dr. Watson. Hereby you plus your bonded, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, are invited to the yearly Royal ball. In honor of the many years the royal families of the magical society have survived around the world, it is with pleasure we held it in The Royal Hall of Winchester, London. Invitations are sent throughout all the countries and the guests are of course of Royal standard. We –”

John snorted. “No, they are strong enough or famous enough…” 

Sherlock lifted an annoyed eyebrow but continued reading. “We wish you would dress accordingly and honor this tradition. The ball will be held at the twenty fourth of December as the clock strikes six after midday and will continue to midnight. Yours sincerest, Mr. Rathbone.”

Both men were quiet for a few seconds before John rubbed his forehead. Sherlock scanned the paper again.

“’Royal Hall of Winchester’?” He asked.

John looked at Sherlock. “You have to put your trousers on this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is unbeta'd blahblah..blah.  
> However, as promised, a new (short) chapter. And of you have just one little knowledge of Magical History in this Sherlock BBC AU-verse you would have known at once where they're going. Please, keep up.
> 
> Happy New Year (If I don't upload something, before 2014)!


	22. Guests

John was nervously tapping a pen on the table as he stared at Sherlock swiftly changing direction of his teacup without moving it. The penetrating gaze the detective gave the inanimate object scared John a little bit. The ear of the cup turned clockwise for a few seconds and then violently changed direction.

The doctor knew it was a subconscious habit and Sherlock’s brain was searching all over the crime scenes a thousand times over. 

On the table were also pictures, maps and files brought over to 221 by Lestrade a few days earlier. The magical autopsy spread out was showing that the core had been destroyed and the child inside the pregnant women precisely killed in a way John feared could be the ending of magic for all. The fetuses all crushed and drained of the little core they had.

Sherlock moved and the teacup started to float with him. The porcelain moved in a circle around the detective like a planet rotates around a star. 

Suddenly, the detective perked up and let the cup fall into the protective field John unconsciously had under it. The cup levitated to the nearby coffee table and settled by looking like it had been standing there for an hour or so.

Sherlock had his nose by the glass as he peered out on the street. His lips pressed together.

“Lestrade.” He said and turned to John, showing his slightly anxious gaze. “With my brother and Mr. Rathbone.”

The doctor nodded stiffly and sat down in his chair. These cases were too many, too quickly, and the pressure was too great but at the last man’s name everything seemed too difficult to handle.

“He’s probably here to arrest us for everything.” John mumbled and stroked a hand over his face. “Bloody hell…”

Sherlock fell into his own chair and reached over to John who took his hand briefly. The strain in his body alleviated slightly and as a thank you he pushed a strong pulse of warmth and love to Sherlock. John always tried to help his bonded through his process of deduction, but at the current case he wasn’t enough so he could only show support for his soul mate.

When the door opened and the three men entered. They stood all in silence for a minute, Rathbone with a look of disgust on his face as he looked around in the room. Just before Mycroft sighed and delivered the news the judge took out a handkerchief and put it in front of his nose. With Mycroft’s slightly cold tone and distance to Mr. Rathbone even John could decipher the dislike between the two men.

“Arthur Milliner is dead. Mr. Rathbone here is under the impression that you two might have something to do with these tedious idle pleasures.”

As Sherlock snorted and gave a witty reply John’s world stared to crumble. Defenseless children were killed easily, but Arthur Milliner was highly advanced in his craft of magic, class one witch nearly boarding on class naught. Olympia Grudge must have been incredibly easy to kill compared. How simple wouldn’t it be to kill Sherlock? John would lose Sherlock again and this time he would not be able to get him back.

Mycroft moved into the room and placed himself beside his brother, looking like he was ready to defend them both without any hesitation both verbally and physically. “Dear brother, I have of course done my best to ensure Mr. Rathbone here that you have no motives to do so or had the time as you both were occupied at the time with helping Mrs. Hudson putting up her new shelves. There is timed footage.”

John’s eyes flew over the room. They were watched? An escape route in case of emergency would be needed if Sherlock was in danger. Only a surprise attack with a shot straight through the head or heart would have killed Bob. There would be no chance for an attacker to actually take him on in a fight. The magic inhabiting Arthur would be too strong – if the attacker wasn’t as equally strong or stronger. Someone as strong could gain upper hand and a class naught would win, undoubtedly. Mr. Rathbone was a class one magician left of maybe fifteen – now fourteen. There was only a handful in the world rating class naught. 

Rathbone was now in the room. The three newly arrived men blocked the ordinary way out and would simply just step in the way if Sherlock and he would try to escape through the kitchen. The windows were too high from the ground and the time it would take for the bonded to make their way through the kitchen, Sherlock’s room and down to the back through that window would ensure their immediate death. The only way out – if needed – would be fighting.

“And Doctor Watson? Because of the uncertainty of the murderer I will keep in close contact to see what you and your… partner –” Mr. Rathbone gestured vaguely at Sherlock. “– will discover. This is after all a very delicate and special case that strays close to my heart.”

“Of course” John bit out and for a second he saw Rathbone flicker his gaze towards Mycroft who stood as still as ever. Mycroft was an influential member of society and having him on one’s side was certainly an advantage. There could very well be a possibility that the older Holmes could crush all magical humans with two words. It would be reasonable to keep on his good side. 

“I will personally keep an eye upon them, and I can assure you that any suspicious behaviour from any one of them will be reported.”

“Excuse me. I had no idea John and Sherlock was accused of murder.” Lestrade pointed out. With a crease between his eyes he sought out Mycroft’s gaze for confirmation. 

The older Holmes sneered but with an uncomfortable tone and a smile of false politeness towards the disliked man in the flat he answered. 

“Mr. Rathbone thinks that considering the places the victims were found and my brother’s familiarity of the police department’s work and Doctor Watson’s knowledge of the human body is enough proof to accuse them of murdering not only one but two of Doctor Watson’s friends and several other victims. At this point I may speak my thought on the opinion. As both my brother and Doctor Watson on several occasions has valid alibies, the possibilities of even coming in range of both time and place to act out the murder is alike to none. There was one occasion this is contradicted and that is the time I personally met them both during the estimated time of one of the victim’s death. The circumstances classified, I’m afraid. National security.” He finished with a small smirk. 

Was Mycroft lying to save both of them? Sherlock seemed somewhat shocked at that last statement. 

“Bloody hell. What have you gotten yourself into?” The DI sighed and looked over to the flat mates.

For a moment John wondered how much Lestrade was really investigating in the matter. Without the magical knowledge he would be fumbling in the dark, probably believing that Mr. Rathbone had lost his mind accusing the detective Sherlock Holmes and his colleague Doctor John Watson for a murder.

“I assure you, Mr. Lestrade that this errand will be dealt with as soon your department comes up with some proof of the murderers but right now to speed up your investigation I demand that Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson are taken in for questioning. Several members of the government would feel gratitude as the two of them fits the criteria of what experience the killers may have.” Once again Mr. Rathbone’s eyes went to Mycroft for some sort of feedback. 

Lestrade’s hand went to his neck and he rubbed twice before replying carefully.

“If there’s evidence already against this – which is clearly unprofessional since I haven’t heard of either accusations or evidence against said accusation – there’s not much of a point to take them in. If –”

“Do you like your job, Mr. Lestrade?” Rathbone asked dangerously.

The said DI raised both eyebrows but Sherlock rose from his chair before anyone replied and donned the button on his own suit. “He does. Dearly, I would even say. However as this is a tedious way of spending time John and I will make our way to the police station within a foreseeable future. Text me the time and date, Lestrade.”

Quite taken aback Greg Lestrade stared at Rathbone but glanced at Sherlock for a second. Lestrade nodded towards the detective. “Yes, sure. Uhm. I’ll go back to the station later and I’ll text you. Sure.”

“I would like copies of the interrogation immediately after handling this matter.” Rathbone demanded and got stared at by the rest of the company. “I want to be fully reported by every happening considering Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson.” 

However the message from Mr. Rathbone was clear ‘I’ll be watching every step you take.’

Mycroft tapped his umbrella twice to show off his annoyance which the magical Judge seemed to notice and smiled falsely. “I believe I have other matters to attend to. A small get together arranged yearly for an invited group of members in society. Doctor John Watson and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I hope I will see you attend, of course under the surveillance of my people. Good day.”

The tension in John’s jaw didn’t slack and even Mycroft’s eyes seemed to have an especial hatred for the man. 

“Well, he’s quite a handful.” Lestrade breathed as the door closed. “Having him in the car was like having a needle in my eye. I don’t know. He seems so false. And inviting you seems like a really bloody strange way to handle this.”

“Indeed. However, The Watson name is considered quite valuable amongst the people Rathbone talked about. Classified information though, I’m afraid.” Mycroft tapped his umbrella much less intently on the floor and hung it over his arm. Lestrade’s eyes darted to John’s face. “An unfortunate event happened to arise during the investigation of the first murder which led to Mr. Rathbone’s involvement. Also classified, I’m afraid. However he has great influence in this matter and his will needs to be considered and followed at times.”

Sherlock seemed to have noticed John’s distress during the occasion that recently occurred and circulated in the kitchen for a moment before bringing out a cup of lukewarm tea. Once again John let his finger drag over Sherlock’s as he received the liquid and pushed a bit of magic through the connection. Fortunately Lestrade was facing the other way but Mycroft’s eyes shifted curiously to their hands.

“I’m afraid if Rathbone put himself more into this I will not be able to defend you.” Mycroft said as he sat down on the sofa. 

Lestrade turned around and found one kitchen chair that he sat down on with annoyance.

“I don’t see the point with interrogating two men that have clear evidence to their innocence.”

Sherlock returned to his chair and crossed his legs as he sipped on his tea. John could not stop a chuckle. Typical Sherlock to not offer tea to their guests.

The doctor took a mouthful of his own up and received for the first time a liquid made to his tastes and lord might strike him if he didn’t let a thankful smile glide over to Sherlock who seemed too smug for such a small act.

“I believe if given enough time and material I would be able to solve this.” The consulting detective started. “I would need any file there is in this.”

“I’m sorry, brother mine, but not even I have authority to those files.”

The DI perked up. “If you don’t have any leverage on this my position is not going to help either. And don’t dare try to get those files illegally! Then I will see to that you both will be in court.”

“Sherlock and I will not try it.” John promised but got a pout from Sherlock that could have changed his mind if he had kept his eyes on that beautiful face. “We both are under heavy observation…” 

Lestrade nodded and told them to keep safe before he disappeared to the station. 

Mycroft stood from his place and bid his farewells. “I do hope you solve this, Sherlock. Your future depends on it. And let’s not forget Dr. Watson’s. I’ll give you what I can, but it’s not much. And I will look into Mr. Rathbone’s history, stop asking.” 

The last sentence confused John but he reasoned that the brothers had been conversing in their own language during the visit. 

Mycroft’s car drove up to the pavement as he stepped out on the street and the two inhabiting 221B watched through the window as the sleek vehicle speeded away. 

John could not let go of the feeling that they were in grave danger. Sherlock also seemed a bit shaken so when the army doctor took his hand the detective deflated in his chair.

“John…” The dark haired man said quietly and rose from his sitting position. Their hands still clasped between them Sherlock leaned forward and put his forehead to John’s. “John.” He sighed again and closed his eyes. “Guide me.”

Feeling hopeless, John put his other hand on Sherlock’s shoulder rubbing his thump into the bare neck. “I can’t. I’m just a doctor.”

The taller man opened his eyes and straightened. “No, you’re not just a doc – Oh!”

Watson almost jumped at the exclamation.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months... Just saying.
> 
> Giving you a long chapter that has been lying around a month(ish). I've read it once or twice and is the only chapter that has been slightly edited before posted.  
> However, it's a chapter...


	23. Thank you

Sherlock was once again reading through the files, but at a much faster rate than usual as if he was searching for something quite plain. But after ten minutes he gave up and threw some papers in the air with a deep groan.   
John let his magic catch the papers and sort them back to order before the doctor reached his flat mate and gripped the thin hand.  
“Tell me.” He murmured. “Tell me what you are searching for.”  
Sherlock looked into John’s eyes and gave another hopeless sigh. “Even for an idiot like you this should be quite obvious? Wouldn’t it? No? The doctor, John! Who was the victims’ doctor? How could I have overstepped that thought! It is as plain as the day! The doctor was clearly in on the killings.”

“What does it say then?” John asked and secretly loved the way Sherlock unconsciously traced patterns on the back of his hand. The tickling in both magic and the skin was a delicious sensation but abruptly stopped as Sherlock tensed.

“It doesn’t say! I need the files you were able to read.”

John tried to remember what those files had been keeping information about the doctor for the pregnant women. And the answer hit him like a train.

“Oh god...” Dread was filling him. “Oh bloody hell…”

Sherlock suddenly was in his face with those wonderful eyes observing everything and probably recognizing every detail of fear on John’s appearance. In the next second John was trying to draw some air into his lungs.

“John? John, you need to breath.” Sherlock had an obviously faked calm voice while his gaze flew over John’s face in a rapid pace conveying the slight panic and expectation. He couldn’t breathe.

His body was ready to give up. There wasn’t enough air to keep it functioning. He had set Sherlock in danger. Who knew what kind of mark Sherlock bore from the first time. Sherlock could die! His bonded could have been killed and John was the one who put him there! John could have killed Sherlock, and the taller man would never have the option to come back again.

John’s knees folded and he tumbled to the ground. Why was there no pain? His knees seemed fine. Curious he looked at them. He couldn’t breathe! Why couldn’t he breathe? His arms felt numb and seemed to be useless at his sides. Not only was Sherlock put in danger but also a huge part of the magical society in England. And John hadn’t seen it. He was useless when it came to observe. John hadn’t seen it!

“John! Breath! Look at me!”

The army doctor heard the voice, recognized it and registered somewhere that he was shaken by the detective. However, the feeling of being under water seemed to become thicker around him. Strange. Was he swimming?

“John!” The massive bold of magic passing through him was enough for him to get the slowly darkening in front of his eyes to reverse. Sherlock sat bent over his flat mate with a hand on his clavicle and the other behind his head. When John suddenly took in a huge gulp of air the hand on his front suddenly disappeared and came back on his cheek.

“John. Are you all right?”  
He must tell Sherlock. Now!

“Doctor Travis, Sherlock. Doctor Travis!”

For a moment he could see Sherlock freeze. Go over some smart conclusion in his head and probably solving every tiny bit of the murders.

And then the world seemed to stop spinning. John was on the floor and couldn’t breathe. His absolutely gorgeous flat mate was pinning John down with his lips. For a moment he didn’t really know how to react. Surely Sherlock must have fallen when trying to get up and by mistake fallen and landed on John in such a way. Only after what seemed like an hour John brought his hands up and tangled them in that dark messy hair.   
He must have died. The consulting detective was kissing John and reality had probably done a backflip. 

The kiss was unbelievably slow and just on the right side of showing Sherlock’s incompetence. How wonderful those inexperienced lips felt on his. How perfect it felt when Sherlock’s fingers gently stroked from his slightly unshaven cheek to his neck.

When they broke apart they stayed close and breathed each other’s air. A perfect moment and John wished he could stay in it forever. Sherlock opened his grey eyes with a flutter of his lashes. And then he froze again.  
John made a content sound. Pulled his hands out of his bond mate’s hair and dragged a finger across that beautiful mouth. Barely touching. No response from Sherlock what so ever and John laid back and waited on the most wonderful man he’s ever met. His bonded. His life. His.

The seconds ticked by and after a while John started to get a tad worried. 

“Sherlock, wh – ”

He didn’t have time to finish his question when the detective went in for another kiss, just as soft as the first. They stayed like that until John had to draw back. Sherlock, always greedy, tried to follow. But with gentle fingers John separated them.

“John.” The dark haired man breathed while his gaze flickered between John’s eyes and lips.   
“Sherlock.” John smiled.

The detective sat up and still held onto John’s shirt. “Sometimes you are less of an idiot than I give you credit for.” The comment spoken by Sherlock was shy and he had to turn his face slightly away with a face that only John knew would be embarrassment. 

With his shorter and less elegant hand John gripped Sherlock’s on the front of his shirt. As his smile grew a little bit wider the magic pulsed between them. The small tendril still visible but somewhat dimmed since the first time they touched. 

“Thank you.” John sat up and pecked Sherlock’s cheek. Thank you for being here. Thank you for this. Thank you for being you. Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. I'm ill. I'm tired. I should be sleeping.
> 
> A little kissing. I hope it's sweet enough. I wanted it sweet.


	24. Fear

The evening after the kiss they went no further. Together they curled in the sofa and settled for nuzzling each other’s jaw line or neck while leaving feather light kisses in their wake.

As soon they touched hands the lines that usually traveled up their armed dimmed, and only when one of them pushed magic though their bond the physical evidence flared up again. It didn’t mean they couldn’t feel the powerful pull though. 

After a few hours they came to a realization that Mycroft needed to be alerted and after John made the call Sherlock sniffed and didn’t let John climb back onto the sofa with the argument that John chose Mycroft over him.

But John just sighed dramatically and made a comment about what a lonely and cold bed he needed to sleep in. Alone. By himself. Without someone. No body beside him because his bonded would rather sleep on the sofa. 

As the doctor suspected Sherlock snuck into his room about a quarter of an hour after John had turned out the lights. Of course had they shared a bed before but not in an intimate manner, so the arranging of limbs and sharp knees ended up with John turning towards Sherlock and taking his hand. Not a very romantic or erotic night that could have ended on the living room carpet but a sweet one with testing the boundaries of their newly found relationship. 

When the sun decided to shine through the window Sherlock was already down in the kitchen and did something very suspicious to the toaster. John found him pushing down several pieces of meat from unknown origin into the slots. And as the day progressed John became more acutely aware that the evening would be the huge official announcement of John’s new status in the magical society along with Sherlock. 

“You are nervous.” Sherlock commented as John for the third time had drawn up his sleeve to check his wrist watch. “It’s annoying.”

The doctor just smiled sweetly and gave a very crude symbol with his hand. 

“Mycroft has had Dr. Travis’ home searched and found it empty, as with his office.”

“Sherlock… It’s not helping.”

The taller man stood from his crumped position from the floor. The dead body was artistically laid out and not surrounded by magical spells, runes or alike. The girl’s hair flared out dramatically but the scenery didn’t have its uneasy effect on John as most murder scenes. Probably because the only thing he could think of was that they should be ready in three hours and in the Royal Hall of Winchester in plus thirty.

“There is nothing that could be done about our place in your…” Sherlock raked his eyes around the room, taking in the forensic workers. “family’s eyes.”

“Mine? Ours, I believe. And for the record –” John leaned forward hissing. “We’re still accused of murder, a very popular couple to socially terrorize, bonded – which by the way is very interesting for my family – and on top of that the real murderer has disappeared into thin air.”

“Mere rumours and a merely small backlash in our progress.”

John snorted. “Mere a whole evening with you having to be civil towards people who will ask the same questions over and over. Don’t come and bitch to me about how insufferable my family is because I will be playing their game, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, with everything from smiles to performances and giving compliments. When are you going to start realizing that this isn’t a game – ”

“Not here, John.”

“Not here? Then were? When? You didn’t want to take this up earlier and soon it is too late. So I’m sorry for being a tad unreasonable. You have a lot to play along with here!”

Lestrade seemed to have taken notice about the small gab the two flat mates had and interrupted smoothly.

“So… What do we have here?”

Sherlock swirled towards the DI making his smile sweet enough to put candy to shame. John rolled his eyes.

“Here we go again.”

“The victim was going somewhere, probably to a party – ”

“Oh, a party.” John echoed. 

“ – a bar or a festive sort of event. Judging by her clothes – ”

“Yes, the clothes. Have you seen the clothes, Lestrade? Very fancy, everyone’s wearing them nowadays! Everybody but us!”

“ – she was putting on makeup while abducted. A logical assumption would be a place where she would not be missed. Somewhere that she could be one of many – ”

“Which we won’t.”

“John.”

“Sherlock.”

“As I said; she would be able to melt into the background. The murderer chose this place as if he – ”

John exhaled and then had enough. “I’m going home. Someone has to make this work.”  
Maybe it was a bit of a tantrum but he had tried to make Sherlock aware of how important it was for them to make a good impression. Not that he wanted it but Judge Rathbone had more strings to pull than people on Earth, if things didn’t go as planned. 

He didn’t get stopped on the way out nor did Sherlock yell after him, but then again that would be very uncharacteristic if it would happen. What was more like ordinary was the sleek black car with tinted windows that glided up beside him just as he raised his arm for a taxi. 

Mycroft opened the door and raised a brow. Enough said John took a seat beside him. As the car drove smoothly away John huffed.

“Your brother is an arse.”

Mycroft hummed in agreement. “I believe he is as shaken about this evening as you. And while we are threading the subject I am glad to announce that several precautions are taken as you will attend. My car will get you there and leave with you. The area will be surrounded by my men and the searching for Doctor Travis is still undergoing. Mr. Rathbone has been alerted and aids us in the search but still hold suspicion towards you. I believe I do not need to say that both you and Sherlock should be thread carefully.”

“Tell that to your brother.”

“I already have.”

A few seconds went by in quietness and John was still mad at Sherlock’s indifference to how this evening would take place. Didn’t he understand that this was the ground of their future?

“I also took time to give my congratulations in form of gifts, two matching garments that will dress you properly for tonight.”

John glanced towards the elder Holmes. 

“With my crest I suppose.”

“With your crest.” Mycroft nods. 

Then there was silence. John watched the people stream around them on the sidewalks and running in and out at the houses and shops. Something John would never have again as long as he lived with his bonded and as long as he will live if Sherlock didn’t show up and acted according to the expected. They could be nothing or everything, nowhere in between. 

“I am afraid.” John confesses and keeps on staring out.

“I know. Your hand twitches, a clear sign of nervousness.” Mycroft easily comments.

“No. I’m scared. Afraid. I’m afraid they will kill Sherlock, everything that he is. I’m afraid they will find something wrong with him and put him away somewhere and he’ll be subdued to nothing but a body that breathes.” John was on the verge to tears. He was so scared that he would not be able to defend Sherlock. “They might want to get rid of him. Maybe there will be so little support that they have already decided. Sherlock is not normal in my world either. Maybe they decide that he’s not worthy or doesn’t deserve the core. And the thought wants me to burn them all. Sherlock is a freak, sure, but he’s my bonded. And I am afraid that they will make Sherlock – ” John drew an unsteady breath.

Mycroft remained silent and the soft sound of the older Holmes’ hands gripping his umbrella was the only outward sign that Mycroft had even listened.

“Have you seen it? Have you seen the experiments? The executions?” John asked whispering. 

There was a beat. “No. I don’t believe I have.”

Once again John turned his gaze out on the street. “Do you know about the mental hospitals?”

“No.”

The doctor’s face grew dim and he breathed through his mouth before he addressed the issue. “A core, the magical seed within the human body can be destroyed but to a prize worse than death. I can recommend the files of one Muhammad Yalif.” He heard Mycroft tapping away on his phone. “That should shed some light on why I’m worried.”

They sat silent for the rest of the ride with Mycroft tapping on his phone faster than John ever seen him. They also parted in silence with matching nods.

True to his word, Mycroft had left the new clothes nicely pressed and hanging on a hook. The bronze that matched Sherlock’s eyes was in the neatly folded pocket square and topped the Watson-crest. Emblems every magical family had to show their status. 

A matching pair of suits with none of John’s ordinary military medals on, just plain with beautifully lined seams and snug leather gloves. 

He cast a glance on the clock and sighed, it was a few hours till show time.

Half an hour before the car arrived Sherlock stepped into the flat. John already dressed stood and fixed his buttons in front of the mirror over the fireplace. His hands shook and his head was only focused on one thing. 

The detective made his entrance silent and slowly took off his outerwear. A pregnant tension fell, surrounding them.

“John. I – ”

John took a deep breath effectively silencing the detective.

“You don’t understand, Sherlock.” Their gazes met in the mirror. “I utterly adore every single fiber of you but sometimes… sometimes I wish you would understand.” John broke away first and straightened his cuffs. “This isn’t about you or me. This is about us. About our future and our lives. If you choose to throw me out I want to explain why this is so important to me… We are bonded, Sherlock. That means that we are one, together, and should be facing the world with each other at our sides. But today can be the day we will never be able to be that. Today might be a point in our lives when you get killed, hospitalized and kept from me. A single detail gone wrong and I might never be able to see you again. And that pains me, it nearly kills me! It kills me to know that you are under every single scrutinizing gaze today and if they deem you unfit to get into this society you will be forever put away in a mental institution with only two visitors a year. Me and possibly your brother. I admire you and everything you are, but I’m not sure you are ready for this. This life and this commitment. And that makes me even more urgent to make this right, to make the judges believe that you are ready and safe. To keep you alive and free is happiness for an old army doctor like me. And this evening might be our only chance and I know that I should have told you this earlier but I don’t want you to dislike what I have grown up with and what I am. I wish to protect you and make you happy. Because if you are happy, I am. And that’s because… I love you.” The tears were nearly streaming down his face and the man behind him stood like a statue.

The marble man’s mouth worked after a minute and seemed to want to get something of his tongue. Then in a flurry of motions and small hesitations thy stood clumsily with their lips fused together. In a bittersweet moment John thought it was a way for Sherlock to say goodbye before they broke for air.

“You love me?” Sherlock asked in a whisper.   
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going slowly. I know.
> 
> As usual me no read two times and me no look for sentence wrongs. Me no much writing anymore. Story almost to finish. My England-speak very best.


	25. I've got you

“Sir John Watson and his bonded Sherlock Holmes.” Was annunciated to the hall full of magical people. All dressed to the occasion and having that seemingly upper-class aura which rich people and those with too much power are rumored to have.

Every eye was glancing to them as they passed through the doors with an air of disguised jealousy and John were almost certain Sherlock could feel it being directed towards them too. 

“John Watson!” A man in his early sixties exclaimed and quickly wobbled towards them with his hand already extended. A hand which John politely shook with his gloved one. 

“Mr. Kingsley, this is my bonded Sherlock Holmes. “ John gestured to Sherlock who also took the man’s hand with a quick once over and a forced smile.

“Pleasure, Mr. Holmes. I’ve read a lot about you. Tell me, can you deduce anyone in this room?” Sherlock corrected his glove discreetly as the man released him. “Because I need to know if the woman over there - in the blue dress – is after my money or my absolutely wonderful personality. Would you kindly deduce her for me?” 

“I believe I can.” Sherlock said with a small sigh and turned fully to the lady at the other side of the room.

John’s heart was pumping faster, his head wishing for Sherlock to tone the harsh facts about the woman down. Even he could see that she was a drug addict or possibly an alcoholic. But who said that living in fear of today’s London wasn’t enough to make one crumble.

Sherlock’s gaze was unbelievably quick. “She is not after your money.” He said and picked up the faked smile again. A wide grin decorated the face of the older man, possibly to hear good news about his relationship with the woman.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, that is wonderful news! Wonderful!” The man clapped Sherlock’s arm. “Do not believe I wanted to use you for such a trivial thing. I would be delightful if both of you would join me at the tables when the food arrives and then we can talk a bit more. Now, however, nature calls.” The man laughed and continued to wobble away. 

John glanced at the woman. “Not after his money, but…?” He asked.

“But absolutely not faithful, nor sober.” Sherlock said and stood a bit closer.

John smiled up at his bonded. Sherlock obviously wanted praise. “You are fabulous, and very graceful not to mention it. However, we need to walk around. Everyone wants a piece of you. Can you try to be civil?”

As if it would be an enormous burden Sherlock sighed but smiled. “Civil? No. Graceful? Yes.”

The evening went for an hour and as the men and women around them became more and more intoxicated fewer gloves protected peoples’ hands. John tried to not drink too much as he was offered ridiculous amounts of alcohol. But he couldn’t say no either because of the unwritten rule about not being rude. When the time came for dinner he was feeling slightly warm and happy. Happy to be with Sherlock, happy to have bonded, happy to have Sherlock as his bonded, happy to have friends and just being generally happy. 

In the middle of a conversation about how extremely unbelievable it would be for John to have killed his old friend Olympia Grudge Sherlock appeared with a possessive hand around John’s waist.

“John, I believe we promised Mr. Kingsley to join him at dinner.”

The woman John had been speaking to smiled and excused herself. The army doctor said goodbye and faced his bonded.

“We did promise him. And you have been good for an hour. It’s incredible.” John smiled ruefully. “I almost miss the spiteful commentaries.”

“They will surely come sooner or later.”

The shorter man hummed and laced their gloved hands together. “I miss feeling your skin too.”

They locked eyes and Sherlock almost looked as he was going to lean down and plant his lips against John’s. Instead he took a breath and looked a bit unsure before whispering into his ear instead. “I wish to feel you too.” And then a bit blunt he whispered again. “I believe we should have sex tonight.”

John had to give out a puff of air before he gripped Sherlock’s chin and gave him a quick peck on the beautiful lips. “I totally agree.”

The dinner was overly superfluous and when the main course was eaten and people was chatting quite loudly to their neighbor when a man stood and demanding everyone’s attention with a grand swipe of his hand and a bright glow settled above them for a few seconds. Everyone quieted.

“Thank you, people. It is always a pleasure to see you both old and new friends.” Rathbone said and smiled a false smile. “As many of you know we have both tragedies and joys to tell today! First we have to give our grieving to our beloved Olympia Grudge whom was one of our own. She was found dead a couple of weeks ago, murdered by someone with great knowledge of human biology and magic. Let us grieve for a moment.”

The silence was deafening, even people who hadn’t had any connection socially still had the association with her though the rare magical gene.

“May she be received in Paradise.” Rathbone said too loudly after a silent minute. “Now, let’s get back to more glad news.” Disgust was evident in his voice. “Our own Doctor Watson had settled his magic into chains. He has bonded with no one else that he famous Sherlock Holmes.”

A whole hall full of magical people turned their heads. A maniacal grin spread across the judge’s face.

“Mr. Holmes here got his Core the same week Mrs. Grudge died, ladies and gentlemen. A quick enterprise to reach the top of the magical society, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock cocked his head a bit. “I beg your pardon?” He asked too politely to be real. “I’m afraid I do not know what the ‘top of the magical society’ inquire.”

“You don’t know?” Rathbone laughed with very, very few snickers following him. “Doctor Watson here is very high on the list of rule. Scoring a very strong level naught, nearly off the scale strength in his magic. However, we are not here today to speak of rumors and theories about people, – ”

“Then why are we here?” John whispered under his breath and a few around him giggled and tried to conceal it.

“ – we are here to celebrate another year as a society that still stands strong and a community that will fight to live! We all know that since the Spanish Inquisition – where many of our kind died – we have been reduced in numbers. But I have a feeling that this is the time for life and prosperity. It is time for us to once again thrive. As Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson have shown us with their bonding it is possible to make miracles. Now it’s time for entertainments and later on dessert.”

Sherlock looked pale and John leaned over. “’Make miracles’, did he just imply that we have killed to make you a core, in public?”

Sherlock nodded stiffly. “Yes.”

The entertainment was an orchestra and dancing to it, since neither could dance very well they sat at two chairs surrounded by drunken witches of both genders who wanted to know every single detail of their lives. Every one trying to take of their gloves or trick them into a threeway which John was appalled by and Sherlock looked highly disturbed.

“Come on, Johnny-boy, jus’ a littl’ show for me an’ me wife-y.” A drunk man said and squeezed a hand on John’s thigh. 

As politely he could he declined and put himself closer to Sherlock.

“Oh, such a cute couple you two are.” A busty woman said and smiled at them with more teeth than lips. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want a woman in the bed tonight?”

Sherlock looked strictly offended. “Absolutely not.”

John needed to distract them somewhat and smiled uneasily before grabbing Sherlock’s gloved hand. “Well, ladies and gentlemen. After the dessert Sherlock and I will do the rites, and you are most welcome to watch.”

All thought it would be a lovely idea and simmered away one by one.

“Rite?” Sherlock asked.

“The thing we did in the courtroom.” John said and leaned closer to the body beside him. “A bit of theatre for the crowd. Hopefully that would be enough for us to be alone tonight.” He smiled and pumped his hand slightly.

“Agreeable.” Sherlock said and looked out over the sea of people. “The man in the blue west is eyeing you.” Sherlock whispered a bit sourly.

John looked over to the man in question. “Maybe. But I will only take you.”

“His daughter wants to dance. She’s coming this way.”

A petite brunette swayed over to them with a charming smile that probably would have John swooning if he didn’t feel totally devoted to Sherlock. 

“Hello. Any of you gentlemen who would like to dance?” She said and shot of one of those smiles again. 

As a gentleman John smiled back, fully intended to decline. “Absolutely.” What?! Wait! He rose and let go of Sherlock’s hand to take hers instead. Damn good manners. Damn them all! “I will be right back, Sherlock.”

Together they made their way to the dance floor and swirled a couple of strides before settling in the steps everyone else was doing. Her dress was flowing beautifully in the air as they twirled around the other guests. However, the feeling of wanting to get back to his bondmate was getting stronger for every minute.

“I thought I would be firmly put down, Dr. Watson. My heart was racing a hundred miles per hour when I walked up to you.”

“Well, I wanted to be a gentleman.” John answered.

The daughter giggled. “You sure are one.” She studied him for a moment. “Dr. Watson, everyone expects you to have a real display for us tonight. They talk about how incredible it is when you… well, show off. How strong you really are. If you pardon my boldness, I will tell you that a man with power always intrigue me. Sherlock Holmes is a lucky man.”

“Thank you.” 

She smiled again. “I haven’t seen you show your magic earlier. I only recently turned twenty two.”

John turned his head too look again at the woman beside him. “You got your first invitation this year.” He noted and started to feel a bit too old.

“Yes. My father has told me about this event, of course. But it is something special in real life. You’re special in real life. Everything is more… colourful.”

The music seemed to never end. The woman in yellow dress he danced with was chatting away about this and that, all while he just wanted to get back.

“Thank you, doctor, for the dance.” She said and kissed his cheek before they parted. “I hope your bondmate can forgive me.”

“I’m sure he will.” John said and tuned to leave. Awkward.

Sherlock was staring at him from a distance. A spike of betrayal and jealousy through their weakly combined magic.

He walked through the mass of people and tried to never break eye contact with his bonded. 

“I’m sorry.” John started and considered how he should continue.

The detective snorted but clasped John’s right hand. “I know.”

The doctor pulled on his collar. “I believe that was one of the most awkward dances I have ever had. Wait, what – ?”

In two seconds flat Sherlock kissed him, pulled him out on the dance floor and started swinging around with the crowd. “I am feeling quite possessive of you tonight, John.” He said and pulled John close as their waltz got rhythm. 

John looked up and snorted quietly, really not believing him at all. 

In the middle of the dance, Sherlock somehow pocketed their gloves and was pushing tendrils of magic between them, making John feel like he was twice as drunk as he was. “Stop it!” John whispered harshly. “I can barely stand on my feet as it is.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Don’t worry I’ve got you.”

“You better got me. Or I will come after you.” John teased. 

John pushed a bit of his own magic back at Sherlock and watched those dark eyelashes feather out against pale skin as Sherlock closed his eyes. In their own bubble nothing seemed more important than the exchange between their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always apologise in these messages in the end. I won't this time. I'm not sorry. Not even a bit. No. Not at all. No. No no.
> 
> As always, not betad. Not read through twice. No spell-checking. No grammar-picking. Nothing. Just witten.


	26. Darkness

The chandeliers above them dripped wax onto the floor in a steady rhythm. Sherlock had excused himself and disappeared among the masses.

The dancing couples stood close to each other and swung in an unsteady circle around the room. Too many people were drunk to notice when John smiled and leaned back stiffly. He slowly clenched his hands. The aura in the saloon seemed to grow darker as the candles got shorter and shorter.

John stood at a corner when suddenly the young lady whom he had been dancing with earlier appeared at his side with Judge Rathbone.

She asked for another dance. John looked around and saw a glimpse of Sherlock’s retreating back with a male server showing him away out of the room.

Seeing no escape he took her hand for the second time that night and started to dance but being constantly aware of the Judge watching. The young lady in front of him smiled with her whole face but didn’t press closer. Her earrings swayed with every motion and step. And suddenly everything exploded. 

The burning beneath his hands almost crept up his arms and paralyzed him. The woman looked worryingly at John who tried to withdraw his hold of her. Something glued his hands to her waist and hand. Small thorns of screaming pain burrowed under his skin and traveled agonizingly towards his heart. The chandeliers tumbled down to the floor and John could hear a screech through his muddled thoughts. With a miraculous surge of power he made the deadly glass falling from above go straight into the west wall like bullets from a gun and the deformed metal frame burrow even deeper above the glass. 

John’s equilibrium tilted and his legs gave out. The woman in the yellow dress, he could not remember her name, tried to catch him as he fell but lost her grip and he landed heavily on his back instead. The pain of hitting the floor like balm to the pain in his chest. Rathbone rushed over in his billowing robes and went down on one knee.

“Doctor! What is it?” The judge said and laid a hand on John’s. A loud crack was heard and the judge flew up into the air and slid on the polished floor. With a groan he sat up and held his hand to his face.

John tried to open his mouth but the excessive pain hindered any word to come out. He wanted his bondmate. Where was Sherlock? 

The large portraits of former judges and important people around the hall began to shake and a multitude of cracks started scaling the walls. The tumult around the hall grew quickly and the residents fawned out towards the massive oak doors. Another large boom could be heard and the piano in the corner crushed under an invisible weight. The dust swiveling like snow by the pianist who had thrown himself away and screamed as a thick piece of wood embedded itself in his leg. 

“Doctor! Control yourself!” Rathbone yelled and crawled forward.

The cracks crept higher and spread out over the ceiling, causing white plaster to fall down on people’s heads. John tried to keep the pain in the back of his mind but tidal wave after tidal wave crashed upon his mind. He needed his bondmate, now!

A cello on the floor gave away to a sickening crunch and obliterated into fine powder. 

“Watson! John! You need to keep your magic in check! You’re going to kill us all!”  
John knew! He bloody well knew that he was on the verge of being a mass murderer but something was wreaking havoc in his core and he couldn’t stop it! 

Sherlock? Where? Sherlock?

Rathbone slid backwards again as another pulse from John started to bend the floor. 

“Everyone get out! He can’t control himself!” Yelled Rathbone and stumbled up as he joined the masses that tried to get out. The gigantic doors had closed and the people still inside tried with their combined magic to open them. The thick wood shook and the floorboards creaked and tipped over an antique vase that was placed on a pedestal. Over him the plaster seemed to spin in the air along with a dark hole slowly appearing in the middle. With every spin the darkness grew a bit in size and the noise around him disappeared with it.

John tried to look away from the slowly expanding hole and wan the guests about it but its magnetic field pulled his panicking body in an iron fist and forced his eyes to keep staring. The edges was tinted with a silvery purple colour and reflected light from the room until the darkness took and swallowed it greedily. His hand was slowly extending against his will towards the ball and John felt the power seep through his fingers from the back of his head and from his red heart. 

The electric touch was lifting John from the floor and suddenly the black hole was large enough to devour him. Darkness hummed as it took John in and made the rest of the world fade away from the poor magician.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right... I haven't written on this for ages (seriously, last update: 22 Oct 2014, why am I still getting notes about this?). And it shows because it doesn't really have the same quality (if there ever was any) and it's quite a short chapter. I'm writing two other projects at the same time (not fanwork) and this kind of fell into oblivion as I moved and started up a three year education in writing. The problem we (you and me dear reader) are going to have is that my education is almost wholly focused on my first language and therefore will influence stylistics, idiomic language and probably also how often I have time to write in English. Anyway, I am determined to get this done somehow (even if it's almost four years ago since I started and two since last update).   
> This chapter has been a pain in *insert colourful phrase and/or appropiate bodypart here* and has been a real problem for me because I've written four sentences and then left it for a month, written a bit, left it and so on. Now, however, I'm back on my planned synopsis and therefore the story should be slightly easier to continue.  
> At last, dearest reader, I am (probably) back.


	27. This poison, madness

Acid. There’s acid in his veins and breaking skin on his hand. The void around him is crushing his lungs and hollowing his eyes. Yet, he is immobile, unable to move and make sound. The only thing left is feeling. One sense. Nothing’s up. The void is silent and his body doesn’t make a sound. Nothing’s down. 

There is a slowly pulsing stream of acid entering his system and he can feel his heartbeat move it around and around and around. Blunt fingernails scratch the insides of his mind and demands to get out. But he can’t help. He can’t move. He can’t see, listen, taste nor smell. He can only feel.

Under his skin there’s thousands of tiny ants running to get from fingertips to head. Between his toes something is pinching his tender skin. What is happening? His hand is forced against a block of ice, his chest against a large, warm, skinless muscle and the back of his head against something unknown. The fingernails are getting more insistent.

The eons stroke his dry forearm and stab his wet one. Why is he wet? Something’s screaming above – under – behind him. It is nothing he recognizes as a living creature and still the wet unnatural sound seems very alive. They continue for thousands of years or a few seconds. Will they ever tire of making those vibrations though the air? He is deaf. Deaf and blind and unable to move. He can’t hear anything. Why are they screaming?

John wishes for Sherlock, but Sherlock isn’t there. Not here. Not anywhere. The acid in John’s veins is boiling like a dangerous drug. Like the drugs Sherlock used to take.

There has to be an end to this. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine Teen. Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-fourty. Twenty-five. Twenty-Twenty-six. There has to be an end. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Forty. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventy. Eighty. Nine. Hundred. There has to be hundred and one. Two. Thre – why is his skin falling?

Somethings dripping on his stomach and makes him lose his balance. He needs to find it. He thinks he lost it behind his bed even though he’s been sleeping in Sherlock’s lately. 

What is happening? He doesn’t know where he is.  
He knows. He knows now. Above him there is air, life and pain, under him there’s death, wet and peace. 

John, that his name. He can remember that people used to call him that. John Watson. Yes, that’s his name! Doctor. Doctor. Doctor. Doctor!

“Doctor Watson!”, someone yells into his ear and suddenly a bright light blinds him. “Wake up.”

Someone stands leaning over him as he tries to focus and look away from the blindness. He can make out the midsection of another man. Malnourished and probably slightly dehydrated, his brain supplies. Thin lines of magic, barely visible on the skin make the paleness of the man seem even more obvious. 

The bright shine is tilted away and he blinks a few times before he is ready to look into the man’s face. Slowly he let his gaze travel to the man’s eyes and he recognized him immediately. Those sharp features, with those dark eyes and slightly too large eyes that make him seem innocent. The goatee adoring his chin having streaks of white.

John stared and gasped. “Travis!” His voice clipped and broken from misuse. 

“There you are, Watson. How are you feeling?” The man leaning over John asked and smiled as if John wasn’t bound and unable to move. “You have no idea how hard it was to get you out of there. All these people were terrified from your magical explosion. It seems that being terrified may be a cure for being drunk.”

John slid his eyes away from the man and he tried to focus. Slowly his body seemed to want to go back into the darkness. 

“No, no, no. Eyes on me, John. Wouldn’t want you to lose consciousness again, not for this. It is quite a simple procedure to do today. A few runes, a few spells. Maybe a bit of darker magic and then a binding scroll to be read. Simple, John, simple. You see, I have read up on quite an amount about cores and their possibilities, such as how they work. How they develop. How they jumpstarts. Why the need of two magical parents are needed. And I have found a solution. No really, Watson! I have found an answer! And you don’t need magical parents at all! No, quite the opposite! You only need a certain amount of magic to set things in motion. Isn’t it wonderful?”

John studied Dr. Travis as his thin face seemed to at any moment just rip apart at the seams. The excitement and probably madness inside the man was etched into every word uttered by him.

“So why me?” John asked and his voice echoed in the room. “Why am I here?”

Travis stood straight and hurried away to uncoordinatedly fumble with a stool before he wheeled it to John side at the operating table. He grinned manically and bent down to tap John’s chest right over his heart. “This,” he whispered. “This. Your core, one of the strongest in the world. Maybe even the strongest. All these people John! All these people dying because I thought they would be enough! But no. No, I needed more. A larger one. Bigger. Stronger. I needed someone with more power! And when Holmes suddenly appeared as an extra battery, I just knew that I had to sacrifice you for the greater good. You are so strong John, so, so strong.”

Travis sat down and smiled sadly. “I know we are friends. And if I didn’t know that this is the only solution I wouldn’t do this. But the children are dying, John. Every year there are less magical children being conceived and even less born healthy. Last year, John. Last year. How many was stillborn?”

John shook his head.

“Come on.” Travis urged.

“I don’t know.”

“Guess. Guess.”

John’s head was reeling and he tried to come up with a number that didn’t seem too unrealistic. There were about a thousand, maybe slightly more magical people of age in the whole world. Not all of them wanted a child at the same year. He could only guess.

“I don’t know. Ten, fifteen?”

Travis face fell. Shadows appearing on his face as he bent his head away from the light.

“No. forty-two. All stillborn. Ten children born alive. Five children still living. We are dying, John. Can’t you see that?”

John could see that, he had seen it for years. 

“That doesn’t make it right to kill. Especially women bearing children.” John rasped as his head slipped to the side. Travis grabbed John’s hair and leaned into his personal space.

“I know, but they are already charging their children and think of all the magic released into the air as they die. Like a dandelion, its seed released into the wind creates several dandelions.”

The darkness overtook.


End file.
